2: Crisis Point
by windwraith
Summary: I need you. three simple words catapult Siroc and frends into Action and Intrigue surounding the First Fronde. Part Two of the YB 'Unleashed Saga'
1. Chapter 1: I Need You

Dumas: him whose vision unlocks the fortress of the dreaming mind, and unto his noble inheritors, keepers of the word-hoard. In faith I seek not to offend but to celebrate history unrecorded of in all the tomes of men. I give honor to characters and place taking naught but pleasure as my recompense.

Unto Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

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Chapter 1: Crisis Point

Action and Intrigue as events of the Frond and the Mask are altered to fit my view of the young blades universe.

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Emris De Ruse knelt in the chapel a stack of documents lay before him on the alter. The reports from his network of operatives concerned him more and more and as a result He'd been spending increasingly greater amounts of time in this position – looking for answers.

The irony was still poignant. When he had been Aramis of the Kings musketeers this had been his 'retreat.' He came dutifully every time his handlers jerked his tether – without fail. It had looked different then.

When the Soldiers of God made the Abbey their headquarters one of the first orders of business had been to have the windows re-glazed. Gone were the prominent depictions of the serpent, the denizens of hell and the twisted agonies of their unwilling pawns. If it were not so, Emris would have been unable to step foot in the small chapel without becoming physically ill.

"Come, walk with me." The would-be-priest said motioning to the door that led to the gardens. his mind occupied second… third and fifth guessing his decision to involve the boy and his companions in the schemes of the brotherhood.

"Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam." He sighed resolutely Loyola's society had chosen an unequivocal motto. For better or worse…Emris knew the requirements of his vow.

"For the greater glory of God." The young inventor translated…easily now. He'd made a point to practice his Latin and Emris nodded in approval as they passed through the wrought iron gate and into the garden.

As April days go… this one was particularly fine. Winter bare branches had started to bud and crocus bloomed amber and violet against the lawn. The sky was still slate gray and it hung low above the crenellated walls of the garden.

Siroc regarded the Would-be-priest … Emris looked the part today. His worn brown cassock was identical to the other brothers of this place. Only noticeable difference being the pointed toes of his riding boots emerging surreptitiously from the beneath the hem as he walked.

The elder man folded his hands behind his back and tried to find words that would not compromise the young musketeer. The observant youth sensed the others reticence though he could not guess at the cause so he tried to open the conversation.

"Athos cautioned us years ago that the Emris we find by the gate 9 to 5 is naught the same as the Aramis we discover by way of the window between 5 to 9 … still you seem pensive uncle."

"I am lad… and I am sorry for it. I wish it were under better circumstances that I call you to my side. I do not wish to place you or your friends in difficulty… especially young Dart… I do not wish alienate him as I did his father."

"But you need our help." Siroc said forthrightly.

"Oui lad … never more." He slumped dejectedly on a marble bench and massaged his temples.

Emris wondered when this mess had begun for him… his thoughts slipped back through time. Berry had been retaken, the evil Baron De'Winter driven from the ancestral home of the De' la Feré and Richelieu's power was broken. The rebuilding had begun and Arimas had been in the thick of it. It was glorious and exciting … Then his world was shattered. A ruby flash on a black gloved hand and a word that could not be ignored "COME" Chosen had said.

He hated that creature with what he thought was righteous indignation. Weeks before when Richelieu breathed his last Emris earnestly hoped the dark one would follow his master into the abyss. And Chosen had tried… to be sure.

But Protector had bought her brothers life years five years before and would not let him die now. At the kings warrant Cavalier had been placed in her custody.

When word of his Master's end reached the hotel de Trivelle… Chosen's agonized wail resounded through the halls…freezing blood in the veins of all who heard it. All save Aramis, truth be told…his heart had embraced the sound.

But none of that mattered once Command was given. The Demon-spawn drew him forward to a secluded cave in the woods and there painfully sought to divested him of all illusion. The weapon had no need to sugar-coat his words… I was clear he believed Kate (Chosen always called her K'lyn) was in trouble.

Emris knew her was arm broken. The child's nana explained that it happened when she tried to run away from the Châteaux. A child hood mishap she'd told him, nothing more.

Still, It was unlike the Master's weapon to overreact to something so trivial. "If she remains where she is," Chosen scowled, "it is only a matter of time before her spirit is broken as surely as her arm was. That, I assure you, will take far longer to heal. You ARE the child's sire… Stop being Remiss and DO something about it!" Chosen stormed pressing the Masters ruby ring into Remiss's sweaty palm.

"Control is broken!" he said loudly and the gem fractured in flash of sulfur.

"When you are next called you will see the truth of your situation!" The force of the last command left Emris trembling and weak as a kitten… he could not even begin to comprehend what the demon had done.

o

Emris rubbed the scar in his palm he'd received that day…a reminder of unseen change. He regarded the blond musketeer "Certain Intelligence has come into my keeping…" He began, picking his words carefully. "Over the next several months things are going to get difficult in the capital. Mazarin's supporters are going to be targets…and while I would just as soon see them all hang I fear the musketeer will be targets as well."

"Targets of whom?" Siroc asked…Thankfully not questioning the nature of his information.

"The people I'm afraid… I have called in every resource I possess and it looks like there is no way to stop it."

"Stop what, exactly?"

"Civil war."

Siroc eyes widened in shock … never had he imagined such a thing. There had been difficulties… certain areas in the capital had been getting rough … reports of careless words…fights… property damaged… a string of thefts…arson… but open revolt? The thought caught in his mind.

OO

Was that sullen gleam in the young man's eyes 'understanding'? Emris knew how painful truth --unasked for-- could be… this had not been his hope when he helped free the boy. Memory stirred again:

Emris arrived at the abbey at the appointed time. He felt the pull…hazy and dreamlike rather than insistent. He reacted just as he had hundreds of times before. The watchers could not know that this time when the cup was held out to him he knew it did not hold sacramental wine. When he touched his lips to the serpentine goblet he did not drink. His stupor was half feigned; incense alone was not enough to strip him of all reason.

Emris saw his position with unclouded eyes

and was horrified by the realization…

Chosen had been correct!

The Master was no more. Control was broken… The dark shadow was loose. No one was there to stay his hand…

Emris permitted himself to become the very thing he accused Chosen of … No place of safety was found within these walls.

Blood ran,

Cleansing stone,

Pooling,

Soaking into the ground:

His Handler and five Guides died here…Preparing the soil for this very garden to bloom.

The governess who tried to break his child was herself broken…

Others died in the surrounding halls and the vestry; he was unclear exactly how many had fallen…but he knew none escaped. Placed in a position of trust they used the master's art for their own gain. Their guilt was undeniable.

They fell un-mourned…forgotten.

Aramis clutched his Kate to his chest and fled …

Somehow, The child knew what he had done…

Knew it needed to be done.

"I am glad the Abbey is purified, Father." Kate told him smiling when they rode together into Berry. "We will be safe here…You need not fear anymore."

Her words revealed that in her short life she had already witnessed things that would make grown men dread the coming night.

Emris hugged her and vowed to never let it happen again.

O

"Events in the capital are no simple storm, lad. We will be feeling the aftershocks for years to come. Enemies of France have been busy spreading discord in people's heart. Wells have been poisoned and crops blighted. The poor cry out for relief and little Louie entertains himself with grand spectacles and circuses. If Mazarin wants to keep his seat he's going to be occupied for the next year at the least. Now is the time for us to Act.

"What can we do?" Siroc said grimly.

"You are a Musketeer boy…I assume you will want to protect Louis and keep his crowned head from getting separated from the rest of him."

"What do you propose?"

Aramis took a deep breath "We're going to have to kidnap him."

"Of course…I'll do what ever it takes." Siroc replied without thinking…

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Chapter 2: Emris re-evaluates his decision to include Siroc and the others and remembers back to a time when unthinking obedience led to profound failure.

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	2. Chapter 2: the Proposal

Unto Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

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Chapter 2: the Proposal

"Of course…I'll do what ever it takes." Siroc had said… the elder man winced visibly. It wasn't that he didn't want… need… the lad to agree to support his plan. He just did not expect him to do so easily. When Aramis rehearsed the conversation in his mind the young musketeer had exclaimed "You want us to WHAT!

Aramis had his reply all lined up… he was going to respond to with… "I am not expecting you to toss him in a sack and carry him off, lad. Spending some time in the country will only do the boy good." But Siroc's quick response cast doubt on a good many things. 'This is wrong.' Aramis shivered; knowing the young mans tone too well. 'He is not ready for this.'

"What ever it takes? …No… do not…" The would-be-priest shook his head… "Would you make ME your master now? I do not require blind obedience… nor do I want your actions motivated by some misplaced notion that you owe me something."

Siroc froze. In his heart he knew Emris was correct "I … I would obey you easily, too easily perhaps," he bit his lip. "Even to commit what amounts to treason. You saved me -- I trust you."

The inventor thought for a moment more… examining emotion and intention both to see how deep the roots of unreasoning obedience lay in the fiber of his soul… what he found gave him a measure of relief.

"My first instinct is still to obey those I think worthy… regardless. But, I would not (and likely could not) induce my companions to do the same. What's more, I would listen to their council on this matter as I do most everything else. You need our help… I will convey the facts to them and bow to their judgment in the matter." Siroc smiled then "I trust they would keep me from doing anything truly stupid."

Emris was relieved by the young man's thoughtful response. Though, the thought that this soft-spoken inventor trusted a D'Artagnan as a stopgap AGAINST rash action seemed almost an oxymoron.

"Tell me uncle… What is behind the urgency I hear in your request?"

"What will shortly befall the capital is only a symptom. Mazarin is consolidating his power. Do not be fooled by appearances to the contrary. After this little insurrection fades you will find his supporters have been well paid for their lost and damaged property and the Musketeer will long be nursing the hurts done to them during the unsettled time.

Noble and commoner alike will see Mazarin as hero bringing order out chaos. The ringleaders will be quickly executed before they can say who hired them. History will doubtlessly judge him a great man. Your boy king is in grave trouble; we must act before the Cardinal's power becomes too great."

"I made a mistake." Emris whispered, "I did not realize Richelieu's hold on our King Louis was such that one could not survive the other. This time we must make our move quickly else Little Louie will become too dependent and we will loose him as well."

It must be admitted that Emris told the young man nothing of what 'Plan B' entailed. As he slipped once again into revere Emris recalled the events…years ago when he'd still been both in thrall to his Master and oblivious to the fact.

The Queen was gravely ill and about to give birth. There was talk she might not survive. Athos and D'Artagnan were singularly drunk … too drunk to miss him. Aramis, recently elevated to Sergeant of the Guard… had access to the palace grounds.

Once inside he shed his tunic and donned a cassock and in that guise he made his way through hidden ways that honeycombed the palace walls.

The tightness in his chest urged him on. The hidden passage had been made for spying… he could hear the King's restless pacing outside the birthing chamber. "I will have a son…I will have an heir!" The Louis Raged.

"I can save them." A quiet voice said… One Emris knew well. He squinted into the crack to see the slim warrior maiden; auburn hair tied back, green eyes flashing. "I have skills. You know it Father. I will save your wife, the child…perhaps both of them."

-Crack- Louis struck her across the face "Do not call me that…not tonight, not ever! I did not choose to sire you!"

She wiped the blood off the corner of her mouth. "Be that as it may, I will save them…." She growled at the monarch "I have no need for a crown. But I claim one life for what I do tonight…You will pardon whom I ask. By virtue of my blood you can not deny me one life for those I give back to you now."

Emris had never heard such ice in her voice, not in the year-and-a-half they'd been cadets together. Or such passion. He'd never imagined the inagmatic 'Protector' to be of royal blood but seing her as she was now…undisguised, Emris could not deny the other She shared the blood of his master too. Richelieu sacrificed his own twin in an attempt to conceive a royal heir… In protector, he'd made something else altogether.

"I need some help here!" the British medic called in a tremulous voice.

"The queen is hemorrhaging… I need to get in there." Protector pushed past the king and into the birthing chamber. Emris moved further down the passage to stand by the next slit. There was a door here also…just like he'd been told.

_Anne screamed; long curls plastered with sweat, her face like wax. _

"_You took your time getting here." The Brit frowned._

"_Family trouble" she hissed unbuttoning her sleeve. _

Julian drew a clear hose with a sharp silver tine at each end. One end went into Protector's arm… She flexed her hand to speed the blood flow and then the doctor placed the other end into that of the queen and bled into her.

Heresy! Dark arts… swapping humors from one to another just isn't done – but Julian was doing it. He mumbled something about wishing for some plasma and being grateful for a type-O donor but for all the care Emris had taken when he copied the works of Galen…he understood none of it.

The Contractions were coming faster now and with whatever Julian took from Protector the Queen had the strength to push. After one more heartrending scream the little blond Dauphin greeted the world with a wail of his own.

The medic washed him and the King was present immediately to wrap the babe in the blue blanket embroidered with the lilies of France "His name is Louis Dieudonne" the king said and prepared to whisk the child off to his first royal review.

"It's starting again" Ann screamed, Suddenly much to the King's chagrin a frail dark haired infant made his presence known moments later.

"I have my heir…blond like his mother…blond like me. He is premier fils de France. This one was likely spawned by that Guardsman's …I care not -- let it die." Louis growled unsympathetically and stalked out taking little Louis with him.

He entered as soon as the king had gone. Ann saw his priest's robes and smiled. "Louis may be the first son of France but he is not the only son…His…his name is Philippe Charles." She gasped breathlessly "Take him."

And so Emris took the child … and lost him just as easily. For the Master was waiting.

For the next 8 years he had no memory of the boy...or the events he witnessed that stunningly bright morning. And when the memory was returned to him he admittedly had other pressing matters on his mind.

O

"Are you certain things will be as dire as you predict?" Siroc asked.

"Without fail -- Believe me when I say our time is short … Come summer Paris will be lost to us. And if we do not move before then you can be sure we loose this Louis as we lost his father.

I have received reports from the length and breadth of the country… The unrest will focus in the capital but I fear not even the borders of Berry will be exempt. It is good Athos keeps the guard vigilant else there may be no safe place in all the realm."

That is why I contacted you. If you and your companions can find a way to get Louie out of the palace unseen…and out of the capital. I can handle things from there. Perhaps make him believe it is his idea: An unauthorized tour of his kingdom perhaps…

All I ask is that you bring him to me. The sooner the better else we'll have to take him once he's under guard in the middle of a war zone."

One of the more difficult obstacles I fear is going to be Charles de Batz himself. One thing he can be counted on is to protect Louis like a bear… In most cases that unflagging loyalty is to be commended. But for our cause, His lack of objectivity will be devastating.

As much as it grieves me we cannot bring him into our confidence. I do not speak like this simply because I know He will never indorse anything even remotely connected with me. Despite what Charles says; my loyalty is to God and France… And you can tell that to young Dart when he asks.

My reason for excluding his father is that He would be incapable of withholding any news of the boy's whereabouts from the queen. She will be dreadfully concerned I am sure but likewise cannot be trusted with such intelligence. She keeps nothing from her confessor, and I need not tell you of the necessity of keeping the king's whereabouts from Mazarin.

Siroc didn't know what he expected when he first received the unsigned note written in the 'oh so familiar' script. This certainly was not it.

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Chapter 3: Surprises -- what happens when Siroc returns to Paris? (Alternate telling of how Siroc and Jacque discover one another's secrets)

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	3. Chapter 3: Surprises

Unto Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

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Chapter 3: Surprises

Siroc arrived back at the garrison late in the night… He made his excuses to the watchman, woke a stable boy to care for his mount and made his way into the sleeping barracks. The thought of sullying clean sheets with his road weary flesh was repellant.

He stopped by his quarters only long enough to grab his towel and robe then headed for the bathing chamber. He did not even bother to take flint or candle to illumine the way.

As tired as he was nothing could stop his inquisitive mind from appreciating the skill that had gone into designing the great baths. Furnaces under the raised floors heated the water. The resulting steam was channeled through special chambers, spread under the floors and climbed into the walls.

This system worked so well that even this late at night that the thick floors retained enough heat feel pleasantly warm to his bare feet. The pool was a bit on the tepid side but it still felt unbelievable welcome to his tired muscles.

He lay; head back on a padded headrest and in truth must have dozed off… only to be woken some time later by the sound of furtive footfalls. Like most in the king's guard, Siroc washed his small clothes the same time as he washed the rest of him so gave little thought to his modesty. His first reflex was to reach for his towel to conceal the maze of scars that marked his chest and back.

Captain Duval's words came back to him, arresting the anxious movement. "Anyone likely to use the facilities during the off hours has just as much – or more to hide than you do." The newcomer was likely just as nervous of being caught here as he was. Siroc did not want to fright the man by making a sudden movement or noise so froze mid-reach and waited.

A sharp intake of breath betrayed that he had indeed been discovered. Siroc turned slowly to see a rather ashen-faced Jacque le Ponte.

"Ssiroc…Yyour back." The newcomer faltered voice unnaturally high in surprise… Mildly Siroc wondered if Jacques meant "You are back." or "Your Back!" The inventor had uncommon night vision but could not guess how well the other could see in the darkness. For his own part Siroc had no difficulty seeing the tension in Jacque's slight frame. Arms crossed tightly over the slightly bulging buttons of his (her?) nightshirt."

Siroc yawned to cover his surprise. "I must have fallen asleep…" There, that was politic wasn't it…to just ignore the fact that one of your best mates was actually a Maiden… he could let it slide. Save for one thing. He felt compelled to add, "If you wouldn't mind turning your back while I get my robe I'll leave you to your bath."

"Of course!" She said, husky voice sounding more like the Jacque he knew. Still her cheeks flushed as she turned away. Siroc clambered awkwardly out of the bath… muscles feeling somewhat waterlogged. Wrinkled fingers snatching up his warn robe and hastily shrugged his battered shoulders into it.

If she hadn't noticed his scars when he was up to his neck in water…she certainly saw them reflected in the mirror as he turned to grab his robe off the hook … they shone almost silver in the fading moonlight.

"Those weren't from one of your experiments exploding on you were they." She whispered.

"no" he whispered … If he kept her secret she would surely keep his.

She accepted that and said nothing else… so he took his leave.

o---------------o

The next day dawned both cold and dreary. Ramón and D'Artagnan had been sparring for some time in the gymnasium as the Courtyard was judged too rain slick for the exercise.

Fatigue hung heavily on both combatants. The poet still attacked vigorously with Sword and dagger. D'Artagnan flourished a folded cape to deflect the attack then neatly ended the match with a flash of his side sword.

Both musketeers were thoroughly winded as they yielded the floor to the next sparring pair.

"Have you seen Siroc?" Jacque asked offering a dipper of water to the sweaty victor.

D'Artagnan took it gratefully after one small sip he poured the rest over his head. "Didn't say when he'd be back."

"He's back… I walked in on… in TO him unexpectedly last night." she shrugged. "When he wasn't at breakfast I…I thought maybe he was avoiding me."

"Unlikely…You are too sensitive Jacque. You will learn our friend can be a might unsociable when the mood strikes him. Do no take it personally." Ramón smiled.

"Have you checked his lab?" D'Artagnan asked "Sometimes he gets so occupied with whatever he's about he forgets to eat."

"Of course… first thing, No answer, and the door was locked!" Jacque frowned; more concern in her voice then strictly suited her masculine persona.

D'Artagnan raised an eyebrow in warning but the Spaniard didn't seem to notice the lapse.

He clapped Jacque on the back affably. "Let's see what is become of our fine compañero. And we'd best see about feeding him while we're at it. Yes?"

o-------------o

Truth be told, Siroc did not wake till past noon. It had been a long hard ride and he HAD gotten back quite late. When the others came barging in his room, he was still relatively sleep ruffled.

"What time is it?" he yawned squinting at the dim half light out the window.

"Late and late…you've missed two meals, but do not fret we have saved some for you. Ramón smiled "Don't hide in the hall Jacque bring in the tray!"

Le Pont obeyed …eyeing the inventor curiously.

Ramón sat on the edge of Siroc's bed and helped himself to a handful of dried fruit before passing the tray to the still somewhat stunned Siroc.

D'Artagnan grabbed his desk chair and sat backwards in it arms crossed indolently atop the chair back. "Sooo, how was your trip."

Siroc frowned for a moment then sighed "You are all here. I expect this is as good a time as any…If you wouldn't mind closing the door Jacque, I've got something to tell you all."

Jacque's face whitened, afraid she knew what he was going to say… D'Artagnan knew her secret of course… but Ramon… With Ramon there were friends and then there were women …And if he went about trying to find a marble pedestal for her… she'd have to kindly knock him over the head with it. -- These and many other thoughts went galloping madly through her mind in the few scant heartbeats it took to pull the door closed.

When she turned around the grave look on Siroc's face made her fears seem insignificant. "Do you trust me?" he asked.

D'Artagnan and Ramon spoke simultaneously…

The Poet said "With my life Amigo." and the other spoke for both himself and Jacque "More than we trust the forces of gravity… we've proven that haven't we?"

Siroc only grunted. In his current mood not even the memory of that short…but miraculous flight could make him smile -- Which was indeed saying something.

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Chapter 4 –Find out how the others received his troubling news.

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	4. Chapter 4: Revealed

Chapter 4 –Find out how the others received his troubling news.

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Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 4: Revealed

"I have it from someone I believe to be a trustworthy source that what seems petty vandalism is a harbinger of something far worse. If we are to act on this intelligence we must do so in utter secrecy and speed. We must find a means to get Louis to safety. In less than a month Paris will be in Flames."

"I'm sure my father…" D'Artagnan began but Siroc cut him off. "…No, he won't help us… the Queen mother also must not suspect what we are planning."

"Treason…" Jacques breathed. "You want us to kidnap the king?"

"That is the charge Mazarin will bring against us if we fail." Siroc nodded. "I didn't agree to do this thing. It is for you to decide; if we do nothing; our conscience alone will judge our decision. If we choose to act and succeed, we will have no reward but knowing we fulfilled our duty. If we fail, Mazarin will have us branded traitors and we will likely be executed. I am willing to die knowing I acted in service to the king…But I will not make that decision for you."

"Why does this fall to us?" Jacques frowned. "We are not officers surely Captain Duval would want to trust something of this import to more experienced…"

"I am Ramon Montalvo Francisco Esperanza de la Cruz:" Rising to his feet, fervor burning in his eyes, "I am not one to turn aside when danger threatens!" The Spaniard expostulated in grand style.

"And what are we to do about the Captain? Are we to sneak around behind his back as well?" D'Artagnan asked, with a wry frown. "Having been an Agent, 'Scarecrow' ought to understand the need for keeping 'Cardinal Marzipan' in the dark. Surely we can trust him to-"

Siroc cut him off "Don't call them that -- even when its just us -- you are going to slip up and say it to his face then you'll regret it…and the only reason I didn't suggest telling the captain is I don't want to get him in trouble…he won't be forced to lie about what he doesn't know

"What you think we should call Duval Dazy instead?" D'Artagnan asked, feigning innocence.

Siroc had that intense look that all but screamed 'THIS IS SERIOUS!' But, with some difficulty, he held his tongue. Siroc had known D'Artagnan long enough to realize his attempt at humor only betrayed his nervousness… but it was maddening none-the-less.

"So it is Siroc and I that are for doing what it takes and D'Artagnan and Jacques that are against the action." Ramon outlined.

"I never said I was against!" D'Artagnan frowned; angry in his own defense. "I was only outlining both sides of the argument," he huffed.

"And you Jacques… what say you? If we are not in accord we do not act." Siroc stated quietly.

"I am not against action itself, only rash action. I believe the captain can be trusted to give us sound advice – provided of course he doesn't find out what D'artagnan has been calling him – because then he'll advise us to scrub dungeon tiles for a week at least."

"Perhaps we should have more of a plan, before we consider getting anyone else involved." Siroc nodded, relieved they hadn't all rejected his news out of hand. He would have abided by the decision of course (as he promised Emris he would) but it would not sit well with him.

D'Artagnan looked thoughtful, "I've an Idea. We all know how fond his majesty is of hunting holidays…and we know how he hates all the fuss of an entourage and chaperones…If we approach him in the right spirit and suggest a private hunting excursion with only ourselves as guards he may permit himself to be smuggled out of the palace."

"We'd need to fetch Butterfly, too." Jacques nodded.

"Butterfly?" the others questioned.

"Butterfly…you know his horse." She rolled her eyes as if the fact was obvious. "Not the big white thing that needs a martingale to get across the courtyard… the little brown mare he's had since she was a pony… Last year His riding coach said she wasn't a suitable royal mount…"

The others looked at her as if she were asking them to bring along an elephant "Why?" D'artagnan asked.

Jacques sighed, "I've seen His 'notes' from sessions at court. Most are little more than drawings of her. At a guess, I'd say she was the last gift his father gave him. I imagine he would even agree to being disguised as a page if it meant he would have a chance to ride her again. What better disguise than a page riding with a musketeer?"

"Now we're getting somewhere!" Siroc rubbed his hands together. "but how to get out of the city… I was told that the violence will escalate quickly and it will be civil war. The people will consider musketeer as targets."

"If that be the case I too must speak for informing the captain. If there is to be trouble, then our brother guards must be ready and able to defend themselves." Ramon said nodding his certainty. Then he looked thoughtful. "I think also I may know how we can get out of Paris and easily to safety…" The Spaniard smiled slyly at D'Artagnan. "We call on your uncle."

"My uncle?" D'artagnen wondered aloud.

Ramon grinned "The Ile du Palais is just that: an Isle. While in Berry, I became well acquainted with your uncle's chamberlain, Mouse. He promised that all I need do is send word with one of the Pigeons he gave me, and in two weeks time Captain Porthos will gladly bring his 'pleasure ship' up the Seine and take us for a … what did he call it?…a nautical adventure."

"I thought you would have those pigeons roasted with rice and mushrooms by now." D'artagnan swatted at the Spaniard playfully.

"Come now, I do have some restraint…and pigeon is a might gamey for my tastes…now if they'd been homing chickens..." Ramón chuckled and then returned to the topic at hand. "What do you think about my Idea?"

"I don't know if his majesty…or any of us for that matter would be up for any 'adventure' involving my Uncle Paulie…" D'artagnan began doubtfully.

"Uncle Who?" Jacques interrupted, stifling the urge to giggle.

D'artagnan took a long breath and expounded: "Isaac Paulonius Olivier de Poitou; Baronet... Gypsy…Pirate -- The musketeer also known as Porthos: My father's best friend…making him my Uncle Paulie."

"So you don't like my Idea?" Ramon frowned...trying not to sound hurt.

"It is certainly an option" D'Artagnan had to concede. "It is difficult to track a ship at sea especially one as…ah... 'unpredictable' as his."

"I think it's a sound proposal Ramón." Siroc smiled. "We can have him bring us directly to the port in Berry le Fére; the guard there can be relied upon to keep the king safe 'till we get to the Abbey."

"Ohhh … It comes out." D'Artagnan smirked, "Your unimpeachable source is none other than my uncle Emris."

Siroc opened his mouth to explain but D'artagnan cut him off, "Do not deny it. That is why we absolutely must go to such lengths to make sure my father does not find out."

Ramón recalled Jacques had not been with them when they went to Berry and would not know the particulars. He leaned over and whispered "You would have heard of the musketeer Aramis…that's who he means: Emris De Ruse…he and D'artagnan senior don't get along, it's a touchy subject."

"You do not think his intelligence is reliable?" Siroc asked, eyeing the legend's son critically.

"Even my father agrees; his spy network has no equal save that of the former cardinal. Not even Mazarin's is as loyal or as exact. The only question my father has ever raised is a matter of allegiance; whom does the Vicar-General serve?"

"He said you would ask." Siroc nodded "His answer…Be he Emris or Aramis is, as it always has been, he serves God and France."

-----------------

Chapter 5: Full Marks –What is the Abbey hiding? Find out how Arimas came to be master of a network that rivals the cardinals own.

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	5. Chapter 5: full Marks

-----------------

Chapter 5: Full Marks –What is the Abbey hiding? Find out how Arimas came to be master of a network that rivals the cardinals own.

-----------------

Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Thanks Nerissa for being my beta!

Chapter 5: Full Marks

It was dusk and the sound of the children playing wafted through the window. Emris set the stack of communiqués aside and leaned on the sill to see what was afoot.

Two blue streaked younglings balanced atop the garden wall mock fencing with twigs. The elder of the two, his Kate Lyn, laughed excitedly as she encouraged the boy.

The other made not a sound, but his 'swordsmanship' was improving. It had taken months for the boy to come out of his shell even that much. Emris would give almost anything to see even a slight smile light those intense eyes….

He frowned. "Is that my indigo Ink you're wearing?" he shouted out the open window.

"We're playing warrior Celt…" Kate-Lyn called up to him bright eyes gleaming

"That not what I asked."

"Yes papa" she admitted, "It's supposed to be woad. Isn't that what Celts call their blue war paint?"

Emris sighed…he was a scholar. How could he fault his child for attention to detail? Still, it was going to be a nightmare to get them cleaned up. "Do you have any idea how difficult…?" He began but stopped when he saw the boy wince. "No of course you don't" He tried to hide his chagrin and sound cheerful. "Come-on up and let me see how bad the damage is."

The two climbed ruefully up the trellis. "W-w-w-e D-didn't mean to…" The boy stammered, "We only meant to use a little." He wistfully held out the half-empty vial. His expression and bearing still silently begged, "Please don't hurt me!"

"I understand lad. Such things do happen." Emris knew better than to raise his voice to the child.

Instead, he carefully explained, "Indigo dye must be prepared from the fresh plant in an exacting and elaborate process that makes it costly to buy. Fortunately, I learned to make it when I was a novice. It takes about a month for the plants to soak and ferment. But I'm sure it won't be as difficult if I've got you two true blue urchins to help me next time."

"Yes, Papa" Kate nodded penitently trying to hold still while he daubed foul smelling solvent on the whirls decorating her cheeks. Still the stain was persistent and she felt rather raw when it faded to an almost respectable hue. As far as she was concerned that scrubbing was punishment enough to forestall further misuse of his dyes.

Little Philippe had blue handprints on his bare chest and endless knot like swirls on his upper arms but he'd been careful not to mark anywhere clothing wouldn't cover.

"It.. It's not… P-permanent Is-is it?" The boy faltered. He had many jailors in his short life; he'd learned the rules that governed his life well.

Leaving marks was permissible so long as they didn't show and wouldn't last. There is to be no scarring of any kind…The only reason the boy had ever heard to justify his frequently harsh treatment was that "He may yet be needed if the OTHER proves… intractable."

Emris knew what direction the boy's thoughts were taking him. "They will fade in time." He assured the anxious boy "Next time you both want to play warrior Celt, tell me and I'll take you into the woods, show you what the real woad plants looks like. We can figure out how to prepare it like real Celts did. I'm sure their paint must wash off easier than this!"

O

Emris sighed, How long had in been since Philippe had come to be in his care? Months? Over-a-year, at least… Two? He doubted it had been quite that long…

The scholar tried to provide so semblance of home for the boy…A place of safety where he could act like any other child…But Philippe was not like other children… This boy…so sweet natured and innocent was, by his very nature, a threat to national security. A prisoner, condemned to obscurity for no greater crime than his appearance and the circumstance of his birth.

Emris slipped back into memory, recalling how the child had come to be his responsibility in the first place. Richelieu was long dead, and Emris believed himself free of that evil man's influence. Louie XIII had not been as lucky and followed his powerful advisor to the grave. But The affairs of the capital were far from Emris's mind. He had been free living in berry with his daughter... with little thought to his previous adventures as a musketeer...or his of torment as sleeper agent of the cardinal. What was Past is past...

Then the CALL had come.

_Icy fear gripping his chest…he lurched out of bed. "Nightmare" he gasped, rubbing the pain in his heart … "Nothing more than a… Ahhhh!" the pain spiked again, dropping him to his knees, and leaving him trembling on the rug of his room._

_It took every ounce of strength to force his legs to carry him through the sleeping streets of Berry. Normally, the fact that the Chosen lived at the extreme opposite end of the town made Emris feel safer; But, in his present condition, the dusty road seemed offensively long._

_His vision grayed out again, the sound of his fist hammering his against Chosen's door seemed hollow, and it echoed uncomfortably in his ears. Emris fought to focus letting his anger energize him. He pounded harder on the smooth wood and shouted, "Get out here you demon!" _

_When the dark Cavalier arrived on the porch, tying the black silk robe about his waist, Emris demanded, "What are you doing to me!" his voice sounding half strangled._

"_Nothing." Chosen answered descending the stair just in time to catch the man's arms before he collapsed again._

_The scholars breath came in great gasps and his face was pale as death. Emris trembled. Chosen deftly used his teeth to pull off the one of the black leather gauntlets that protected his unnaturally sensitive fingers. Next, he cupped his cool palm to Emris's fevered cheek then measured the gentle throbbing of his pulse._

"_Let go of me you fiend!" the scholar shouted and tried weakly to shake him off. "How could you? Liar! You said it was broken!" there were tears in his eyes now. _

"_Command IS broken…The Richileu is dead. You saw his ring destroyed with your own eyes."_

"_Then why…How?" Emris was wracked with convulsive shudders again. "I am Called." He said…voice devoid of emotion. "I MUST go."_

_This time it was Chosen that shivered._

_He set his jaw stubbornly "Not alone you won't. STAY!" In The scholar's present state, the Command would hold him at least long enough for Chosen to dress properly and grab his blades. He certainly wasn't going into any unknown situation unarmed._

_The gray mist that shadowed Emris's mind lifted, and his found himself astride Charger, racing against the wind. For once he actually took comfort from Chosen's presence behind him. One gloved hand steady on the reigns, the other around his middle. Emris knew if he were to faint again and plummet from the saddle, he'd surely break his neck at this speed. _

"_There is no threat at the Abbey." Chosen mumbled more to himself than Emris, "Those that sometimes shelter there bear you no ill will. I can not imagine why they would summon you."_

_But there was no question that was the very place Remiss was drawn to. Clearly, Emris's strength returned and the pain eased considerably as they neared the ancient structure. "Wait here!" Emris ordered slipping off as soon as Charger halted in the courtyard. Chosen shadowed him regardless, but stayed out of sight in deference to the other man's wish._

_A plain looking carriage also waited in the courtyard, the horses lathered and uneasy in their traces. A figure robed in ghost white leaned against the marble steps of the Abbey. Cavalier recognized the man and relaxed immediately then went to soothe the horses with a practiced hand._

"_I am sorry, first of all to have to get you here like this. But there just wasn't time." The man explained._

"_I do not know you." Emris frowned unable to think of any situation that would justify the pain he experienced this night. _

"_Do you not?" the man in white asked uncrossing his arms …or rather Arm … the sleeve of the right one was pinned back below the elbow down. _

"_No less than three times you when faced with the reality of the unholy arts that bound you… You reacted with righteous anger rather than fear." _

"_The first time, when you fled the citadel, I foolishly stood between you and Miss Ruse who was in my care in the citadel. I saw the fire in your eyes when you took my arm... and by virtue of that fire I named you my heir."_

"_Your What?" Emris gasped._

"_You have always been an avid scholar…I expect you are already well versed in the history of the Institutum Societas Jesu. You may even be aware that a German called Nickel holds the post of Vicar-general. _

"_Nickel is a farce…he doesn't exist. Mazarin…like Richelieu before him is eager to hunt down the man and do all within their power to disrupt the brotherhood and gain possession of certain artifacts and knowledge._

"_Likewise any of Jesuit networks they have uncovered over the years were but small fragments of what we possess. Brothers of the order are on their way here even now to help you marshal the forces at your disposal." _

"_At my? What are you saying?" Emris asked flabbergasted._

"_I am dying, Emris de Ruse. The pain you experienced when I summoned you is a mirror image of my own. Poison flows in my veins and consumes my essence even as we speak. Before dawn I shall take my place in eternity. I am content to know I have not spent my life cheaply. I managed to secure an invaluable treasure…Priceless to our cause -- the last hope of France._

"_You will find in that carriage that which you lost years ago. I return it to you now as I know you best suited to manage it and take my place."_

"_But I'm no priest I fled my duties!" Emris argued, "I never completed my training and am not worthy of such a post. I've done things…"He shook his head sadly, as the words would not come. With a sigh, he admitted, "I can never be ordained." _

_The Vicar-general nodded. "The Brothers of my order have taken the three vows as you once hoped to. Poverty…Chastity…Humility and also the forth Obedience -- to do the work that most needs be done. They are fine men every one and will be invaluable tools." He placed his hand on Emris's shoulder "But I choose you because I know you will put the forth vow precludes the others. You possess the spirit to use what ever means to battle the evil ones. Were not these very walls empty at your hand? _

"_I know your conscience will keep you as you are: a priest that might have been. But I also recognize the Vow you have bound yourself to is no less strong or less holy than those of our Society … I have seen to it the brothers shall ask nothing more of you."_

"_My Vow?" Emris whispered though he knew the man spoke of not the vow the musketeer took to the king and to France (though that bound him still.) It was the vow he's made looking into his Master's eyes 'you will never harm another soul…my promise to God.' It was his duty to make right what the master tainted, bring back those souls to the light…or if that proved impossible, to judgment– before they could perpetuate more harm. _

"_I give you…this." The lord Less whispered removing the glowing orb from the folds of his armless sleeve … Emris could feel its power even through the silk cloth that shrouded it. "My time is finished…All is in your hands now… To the carriage Emris…you will know what to do to make things right." She man said as he finally succumbed to the pain._

_O_

_Emris stepped uncertainly to the carriage and did not see Chosen go to the one armed man's side. Without the aid from the orb he was fading fast and Chosen wished to have words with the man who had been his friend in the citadel. The lord called only 'Less.'_

_Once Emris opened the door to the carriage he thought of nothing else there cringing in the corner was a boy tattered and dirty half starved… a boy who wore a mask of unyielding metal, Beautiful and hideous both, embellished with silver and gold and etched with symbols of power, marked with the royal crest. _

_Fortunately, any friend of the incomparable Porthos knew a thing or two about locks. Slowly, carefully, Emris sprung the lock around the boy's neck allowing him to remove the dreadful mask that had hid the boy's features for a time that was doubtless beyond the child's memory. _

_Beneath it was a frightened dauphin…with the face of a king. _

_Emris recognized the boy immediately …there was no doubt that he was the first in nearly 10 years recognize the face of Louis's twin brother…"Philippe!" he gasped at the stunned child._


	6. Chapter 6: Action

-----------------

Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Thank you Nerissa for being my Beta.

Chapter 6: Action

It was May, and Paris was resplendent with flowers. The people strolled leisurely down the tree-lined streets or lounged in the salons. Outside the capital, there was the business of preparing the rich dark earth for planting…Some nobles chose to take the ride just to enjoy the scenery as if admiring real life what the popular paintings of the Le Nain brothers depicted in tableau. Cardinal Mazarin commissioned the renowned brothers to make their latest work portraits of himself and his nieces Marie and Olympia. While thus engaged the brothers requested Captain Duval the honored of being billeted among his musketeers. Before returning to their studio, they presented Duval with a painting entitled "the Guard room" in repayment for his gracious hospitality.

However, all was not as it seemed. Unrest festered beneath the surface of the capital. People used a new round of taxes to justify many things. The most recent in a string of unaccountable fires ended the careers of Louis Le Nain, and several days later, his brother Antoine, who fell-prey to his injuries. Mathieu, the last surviving Le Nain, donated his recently combined collection of works for display at the Royale Académie as a memorial. Many Musketeers were among the throngs that went to pay their respects.

Duval asked for the 'Guard room' to be included in the collection, but Mathieu refused, saying that he felt that would be wrong; it was the last surviving work the three had done together, and therefore ought be displayed where could be appreciated by the "brotherhood of guards" that had inspired it.

The portrait for which they had been commissioned Mazarin judged rather unflattering. He suggested they "take it back and fix it." Coincidentally, it was among those that did not survive the fire. A replacement for the lost work was never made.

O

"We are running out of time." Ramon said sullenly gazing sadly at the collection of miniatures and portraits. Of the four of companions, he'd been the most affected by the artists' untimely deaths.

"I can't help but agree with you." Siroc whispered. The mausoleum-like quality of the gallery made him uneasy, and he longed for the sunshine. "As soon as the 'shipping concerns' are organized everything must be ready for transport."

"Understood," Jacques nodded. "D'artagnan and I are on guard again tonight. It's a pity really; what the boy needs more than anything is a friend.

D'artagnan could not tear his eyes away from the brothers' paintings of "Boys Playing Cards", and "The Peasants Meal" reminded him so of his time with his mother in Gascony; it brought tears to his eyes. But like his friends, he could not surrender himself fully to the magic of the art.

"He is board almost to tears with the endless sessions with nobles and parliament," D'artagnan frowned "This general malaise is not gaining him supporters among the bourgeoisie. I've heard Him speak wistfully about a Vacation of sorts. I suspect when the time comes he'll be eager to cooperate…" The Gascon said in a hushed tone.

O

Months passed June and July faded with all their burning glory while preparations were made but the four-musketeer conspirators' awaited the ship. Finally word came from Le Harve; Porthos and his crew would arrive at the quay of Porte St. Honore, August 20. D'artagnan, Jacques and Siroc would move on the palace at dusk. Ramón would locate the ship then await his friends at le Tuileries and swiftly guide them to it.

This was a necessary precaution, as the letter had not specified the ship's name, (Porthos's pleasure tended to change her name to suit her captain's mood. D'artagnan recalled the ship had been christened 'Queen of America' less than a year ago. Before that, it had been the 'Tsarina of Tokyo' and who could forget the ever popular 'Barmaid's kiss'? As far as Siroc was concerned, it didn't matter what they called the vessel so long as it was where they needed it when the time came.

Finally the day they waited for arrived. D'artagnan was the first to leave for the Palace Royal. Siroc never would have asked it of him, but The young Gascon insisted his place was to keep his father occupied while the others did what had to be done.

-o-o-o-o-

"So you DO know the Navière defence?" D'artagnan confirmed as he faced off against his legendary father in the marble hall the king used (like his father before him) for his own fencing instruction.

"First confuse your opponent" Charles intoned, matching word to action and a flurry of strokes rained down on his son's blade. Young D'artagnan exchanged strikes with his father to no avail till thought he thought he saw a hole in his father's defense and dove in with a low attack to his left leg.

"You took the bate," The legend smiled and turned his son's thrust with the appropriate counter move…"so I parry Septiem and Envelope in Quarte" His The elder D'artagnan masterfully entrapped the younger's blade high and to the right.

"Oui" the young musketeer nodded, "What next?"

Like lightning, the legend struck his son's wrist with the flat of his blade. The slap to was more startling than painful; It reminded Dart of a similar injury he'd received as a child to prevent him from reaching for the bed-warmer while it was still balanced on the coals. As then, His first thought was 'what did I do wrong?' but this was no rebuke it was part of the instruction "strike your opponents forearm." His father explained but before the young Gascon could recover from the shock, his sword went flying from his grasp.

"Disarm opponent," Charles intoned, "then to finish the Navière is to strike … there." He touched his son gently between the brows, just over the bridge of his nose. "–Dead--" the legend said finally.

"I would have thought you'd need a heavier blade to pierce the skull." Young D'artagnan wondered aloud.

"Exactly what makes the defense so effective my son." Charles beamed, these casual moments between them were far too rare. If only he'd been around more while the boy was growing up …If only Anne hadn't needed him so much…The older man frowned. It was pointless to dwell in the past. "We should do this more often." He suggested.

"I…I'd like that." his son said, surprised that it was true It was with genuine regret he admitted, "Unfortunately my duties are taking me far from Paris; I'm not sure when I'll be back."

"When do you leave?" Charles asked.

"Later tonight." The young man sighed.

"It's probably for the best," his father nodded "Several Swiss Guard were attacked yester-eve. Better, you and your friends are well away 'till things settle."

There was a long pause before Charles continued, "I appreciate you taking the time to come by before you left."

D'artagnan's throat constricted painfully; how could he admit he didn't know if he'd be coming back, or whether his father would even want to see him if he did? Kidnapping a king was as close to treason as one could get…And his father was not the most forgiving when it came to even perceived offenses against the royal family… after all that was what ended his relationship with Uncle Aramis. The young Musketeer bit his lip.

Charles had been a soldier far too long not to recognize that look. It was the stark realization that any assignment may be ones last. He pulled the boy against his chest with one strong arm. "You'll do fine." He said and ruffled his son's dark hair in an uncharacteristic show of affection. It had come loose from its tail during the fencing instruction and fell like lace about his shoulders. The younger man was speechless; he just relished the brief contact and struggled to master the conflicting emotions which threatened to overwhelm him.

-o-o-o-o-

Jacqueline made her way into the palace in guise of a chambermaid. When she had discussed her plans to obtain clothing and gear from the King's chambers with the others, she had been purposefully vague about the details. Only D'artagnan was aware that on several occasions over the past month she posed successfully as a palace maid to establish her authenticity. Now she moved with unhurried ease through the halls of the Royal palace.

Although Louis was never in his quarters this time of day, Several of Cardinal's guards usually strutted about, pretending they inspired the same level of competence and trust that the musketeer did.

Jacqueline thought it unlikely that she would be recognized, and even if she would, it would not be as Jacques le Ponte. When the Red Guard approached, she casually faded into the shadows.

She'd heard enough gossip from the other servants to know that those guards hardly acted like men of God when they got a serving wench alone in one of the back halls. Their reputation alone would give her cause to want to avoid them.

Today, however, there was definitely something afoot. Firstly, there were decidedly more Cardinal's guard than on her previous visits. Secondly, they were moving briskly, as if occupied by some urgent matter.

The final and most surreal bit of intelligence was that they seemed to be carrying Books, paintings, and even furniture; heavy antiques by the look of them. She could not imagine why guards were necessary for such a mundane task as removing items from the cardinal's chambers and relocating them elsewhere in the palace.

Something was clearly afoot, and Jacqueline certainly did not want to be around when it did.

She busied herself tidying the king's rooms; she made the bed, put away his clothes and clean linens, and set out the after dinner clothing his Valet de Chambre had chosen for him.

That completed, she selected several other suits from the very back of the wardrobe. What she chose were not the pastel blues and yellows favored by the queen mother and the royal attaches, but grays and greens and deep burgundies that would not seem amiss in field or forest.

Next were Hunting leathers and other personal items that would comfort a youth away from home, and all were cunningly secreted in the voluminous layers of her skirt, sometimes being a woman DID have its advantages. Although she might have enjoyed seeing D'artagnan don her clever disguise, she knew he barely made a convincing peasant…being a woman would surely tax his meager acting abilities.

As a final layer to her somewhat lumpish disguise, she donned one of Louie's wigs and made her way to the stables. Her young Gascon left Louis's 'Butterfly' saddled and waiting to take her to rendezvous with the others.

-o-o-o-o-

Siroc paced the confines of his lab for what seemed like the millionth time. Patience was one attribute he thought he had mastered during his time as a slave…but those years never prepared him to deal with the worry of sending friends alone into a potentially dangerous situation. The inventor sighed; he had his own part to play (perhaps the most dangerous and vital) still it was fear for his friends that most consumed his mind. He was the one responsible for getting the rest involved in this.

As dusk deepened and night approached, His time for action drew near. Siroc forcibly pushed emotion to the deepest corners of his mind. He needed no additional distractions when he approached the king. He would do what ever it takes to spirit Louis safely away.

Chapter 7: Close Call: things rarely work out exactly as we plan.

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	7. Chapter 7: Close Call

Chapter 7: Complications in the capital...Things rarely go as planned.

Unto Dumas:

Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 7: Close call

Louis, as a contentious ruler, worked between 7 and 10 hours a day... Mazarin and the Queen decreed this be so. His time was managed with near military efficacy. There were lessons…sessions in court…meetings with advisors, emissaries, dignitaries and various and sundry nobles…All of them many years his senior and, for the most, part ill equipped to deal with the psychological and emotional needs of a royal 10 year old.

However, in repayment for his nominal participation in affairs of state (and stately affairs) it was agreed that Louis would have several hours of total and complete freedom a day. This was his time to throw tantrums… break things…or do whatever he wished (which meant in general to wreak havoc.) Pity those assigned to guard him during the time of his majesties time of Liberté.

Captain Duval assigned Siroc that most odious duty on more than one occasion in preparation for this day. Surprisingly the soft-spoken inventor had been able to channel the monarch's nervous energy in (more or less) constructive endeavors. Unfortunately, this was not such a day.

A flash of gold amongst the bushes in the wildest part of the gardens drew the musketeer's attention first. A shoe buckle, a pair of hoes, a peach colored trouser leg -- muddy and torn, the brush parted to reveal a half naked savage in a feathered headdress (the tip of each plume suspiciously ink stained)

"I am a great chief from the Americas." Louis XIV exclaimed puffing out his rouge-stained chest.

"I can see that." Siroc nodded.

"I order you to climb yonder redwood and retrieve my medicine wheel or I shall have your sunny-bright scalp French man!" Louis announced. By way of emphasis, he kicked the curly blond wig he had discarded on the grass.

"Of course great chief" Siroc bowed. He climbed the tree easily enough, crossed his legs around a branch and hung up side down. From that undignified position he drew his sword and reached out to pluck "medicine wheel" (I.e. the circlet of state) which had been wound with grape vine and trailing feathers.

Louis laughed, capered about and whooped gleefully, very like the barbarian he claimed to be. "You make useful prisoner" the king declared, "I think I keep you."

After that 'display of courage and loyalty' it was surprisingly easy to convince the lad to exchange one costume for another and clad a tunic marked with single fleur-de-lies "Lew the lackey" mounted the pillion behind Siroc's saddle, and they rode with surprising ease through the gates of the Palace Royal and into the city.

-o-o-o-o-

The crown of France – still twined with vines -- lay on the Queen Anne's pillow…beneath it was a note.

This read:

Mother dear,

Do not worry. I am well and safe. Need I remind you that although I am King you and Uncle Mazzie are the State; at least for the time being. I am sick to death of that wretched parliament business. Please take care of it quickly for me. I do not intent to return to Paris until you do. That way, once I have tired of the countryside, I will come back to court and be free to move on to more interesting matters.

I did not ask permission because I knew you and that wearisome de Batz would never let me go -- at least not with out a retinue of a hundred or more. I do not want or need those men following me about like hounds. Don't trouble yourself with me. You should know that, despite what Bouillon, Turenne and de Gondi say I am neither stupid nor irresponsible. I have selected companions brave, trustworthy and resourceful to protect and entertain me whilst I am away from the capital. I'm sure you will have things well in hand while I am away.

Your loving Sun

+XIV+

-o-o-o-o-

She was not the Regent of France at the moment…nether could it be said she was Queen. She was simply Ann. The frightened mother who recognized her son's cramped hand yet was unable to comprehend or accept what his note said… She turned to find comfort, not for the first time…in the arms of her stalwart captain -Her Charles.

"Our little boy is gone." She sobbed and collapsed bonelessly against his chest. He held her and let her cry.

"Don't fret my rose." The elder D'artagnan crooned and smoothed her hair. "He can't have gotten far. I'll have horseman check every inch within a hundred miles of the capital, we'll have him back in no time."

Moments later the din began… Fire! Fire! The cry came in the night.

-o-o-o-o-

On the outskirts of Paris is le Tuileries: A series of long, narrow buildings with high roofs. Most have been divided into warehouses and shops. But this has not always been the case. For Catherine de Medici this had a palace. Now the one major and two minor courtyards were crowded with poor hawkers selling goods, newly arrived at nearby Porte St. Honore, from hastily constructed wooded stalls.

Ramón surveyed the once magnificent gardens as he waited. With his poets eye he could perceive the shadow of what once had been and dreamed of what could be again. Closing his eyes he could imagine le Tuileries a royal residence again or perhaps even a theater. The possibilities were endless.

The Spanish musketeer stayed away from the port, wary of drawing attention to the ship, which had arrived earlier in the day. The ever colorful Captain Porthos gave his word that his vessel (currently sailing under the name i _'Promising Alley' /i _) would set sail immediately after the passengers were on board.

Many of the shops were closing now as dusk deepened into evening but there were enough comings and going near the wharf to justify his presence. The Spaniard leaned against one of the empty stalls and enjoyed an alfresco dinner. Suddenly a body slammed into him HARD causing his exquisitely seasoned chicken leg to fall into the dirt.

"Sangre De los Dioses!" he exclaimed in a fit of piqué. "Watch where you are going in such a hurry señor else, you will surely not arrive at your destination." Ramón declared angrily shaking what was left his coffee off his sleeve…

"Are you challenging me?" The man sneered and then followed the question with 22 inches of gleaming steal.

"A swashbuckler…I should have guessed." Ramón growled. He HAD been trying not to draw attention to himself. But it appeared this 'gentleman' was not going to oblige him in that. To make matters worse HE spoiled a perfectly good chicken. Ramón drew his sword.

Truth be told, it wasn't much of a fight. The bully in the buff coat was both strong and quick but lacking imagination. In fact, it was very like dueling one of the Cardinals guards.

Shortly after their swords, clashed Siroc and young Louis intruded upon the scene. Seeing Ramon it the midst of a duel confounded the inventor. His thoughts raged… 'How could he…possibly… Why? Why now!…What would warrant…such …such…risk Urrrgh!'

Thankfully though, the young inventor had been schooled to keep an impassive face and asked casually, "What is this about!" not bothering to dismount.

"Be with you momentarily Siroc." Ramón said sending his opponents blade skidding across the cobbles.

Siroc's undisguised royal blue uniform and Lewis's lackey's tunic made them easily identifiable. "Musketeers!" the man spat angrily.

Siroc thought he recognized that voice but quickly had other matters to concern him. As if on que, shadowed figures emerged seemingly conjured from the darkness. One stopped the sliding blade with a booted foot…and kicked it up into his hand.

"Bernard." Siroc groaned and winced inwardly, 'We haven't time for this!' His mind screamed very much aware of the young King clinging to his waist.

No less than six companions accompanied Bernard. Though they dressed as middle class merchants, they carried themselves like guardsmen – all with the same distinctive cloak as Ramón's attacker.

"Well, well, well, what have we here? A pair of Musk-a-rats." Bernard smiled smugly. "You ought-not wander about after dark. There are dangerous peoples about tonight."

The Ever observant inventor was quick to notice this was something other than coincidence. In his experience Mazarin's guards were by in large, a solitary lot. He'd never known more than a handful to spent off-duty time together and most of those, pointedly avoided Bernard--Unless they were up to something.

So the question was; 'What would require eight guardsmen in civilian dress?' All wore the same rough leather cape over their garments, protecting them perhaps from some grimy chore. There was also one other accessory all had in common.

"A sling?" Siroc matched scorn for scorn "That is hardly the weapon of a nobleman…Bernard. Have you been breaking windows again?" Siroc said in a carefully schooled sneer. The inventor alluded to the recent rash of vandalism that was the talk of Paris.

Bernard flinched, the accusation hit very close to the mark. He recovered quickly, "I wouldn't need a noble's weapon to take you down – Schiavo…I can do that with fists alone. Shall we have a go? Wouldn't be the first time I BEAT you, would it." The guard menaced, handing the blade back to its owner. "And who might this be?" he nodded to Louis "Your personal entertainment for the evening or is he a regular esprit de corps boy?"

'Schiavo… Animale domestico,' the Italian language still made Siroc cringe, (as did the reminder of his frequrnt beatings.) But he was not Mazarin's 'Slave' or 'Pet' any longer. What is more he learned to use what he'd gleaned from that ruthless instruction. Still part of him yearned to accept the bullyboy's challenge. Bernard would be quite surprised to find what happened when the master was not around to command him to let the guard win.

Siroc could not forget the power of the master's command, voice cold as ice yet edged like steal…He could mimic it "Enough!" Siroc said His tone, so like Mazarin's all eight guardsmen responded instinctively -- almost coming to attention. Even Louis (who had been about to ask what a 'Schiavo' was) closed his mouth with an audible snap. "The boy is my nephew." Siroc lied convincingly. "And while I'd love an opportunity to ram your accusations down your throat I simply can't be bothered at the moment."

The inventor was distracted from his tirade for only a heartbeat when a nearby warehouse visibly erupted in flame. The sign over its door illuminated clearly by the blaze.

"I expect you haven't much time either tonight. Isn't that your fathers building on fire Bernard? I'm sure He'll be well paid for all the perishable goods in that empty warehouse…. But he will not thank you (I think) if the entire building turns to ash. You'd best not delay too long in calling the fire brigade." Siroc stated, fixing Bernard with an unblinking stare and spurred his horse past them.

The ringleader ground his teeth together in undisguised rage. Bernard hated to admit it but the fire had indeed grown out of control. It was high time to summon help to put it out.

Over his shoulder the inventor called almost cheerfully, "Come along Ramon, we must be going!"

The astonished Spaniard had all he could do to trail after his departing companion. He had never before seen this dimension of their mild mannered Inventor. If he had not seen it, he would not have imagined Siroc had trading insults with Mazarin's favorite bullyboy... What is more, he actually made the unpleasant blaggard back down.

-o-o-o-o-

Chapter 8: Departure, the adventures take their leave of Paris.

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	8. Chapter 8: Departure

Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 8: Departure

Jacqueline Roget stooped behind a stack of boxes near the pier and shed the maid's disguise for the more familiar one of Jacques le Pont. That finished, she stood up to better lace her trousers, and was startled half-out-of-her-wits.

"You there!" A shrill voice called, "What do you think you are doing!"

Louis slipped off the back of Siroc's saddle. "I dare say, that man is wearing MY Thursday wig, and its only Tuesday!" he exclaimed peevishly,

Jacques, relieved she hadn't been discovered in a more compromising situation hastily removed the offending item in a husky whisper 'he' admitted to the young king, "I've been incognito, like you sir. It was necessary to get you some of your things." A gentle tug on the reigns brought the singular brown mare, saddlebags bulging, into view.

The boy charged past the suddenly uninteresting musketeer to throw his arms around 'his steed' snuffling her sinuous neck in a very un-kingly manner. "Mine!" he murmured, into her mane tears shining in his eyes.

"My…my fly." The 10-year-old mumbled. For her part, the mare seemed just as excited to see him. She worried his short-cropped hair with her dexterous lips in the somewhat messy equine equivalent of a kiss. "She's coming with us isn't she?" Louis asked Siroc…eyes wide -- hopeful.

"Yes, she is. They both are." The inventor smiled…making eye contact with Jacques.

Le Pont raised an eyebrow and smirked. "Shouldn't we be boarding then? D'artagnan should arrive anytime now."

"Of course!" Ramón stuck two fingers to his lips and whistled… "Captain Porthos is quite accustomed to transporting horses…Have no fear for them."

At the Spaniard's signal a flock of…brightly sashed 'Sea Gypsies' descended on them. Louis frowned as he watched the sailors slip a hood over butterfly's head, going back as far as her withers… buttoning under the jaw bone and along the neck to the breast. There were no eyeholes but she did not seem to mind and remained calm as the men lead her to the waiting ship…Louis trailed nervously after her.

Siroc's mount was likewise equipped and led away. Ramon explained that horses for Jacque and D'artagnan and himself already occupied special stalls with protective slings beneath the ship's foredeck. With these precautions, the horses could travel in relative comfort and security.

-o-o-o-o-

Porthos' pleasure yacht was a two-masted schooner with slim lines and a shallow draft. Siroc's education included little beyond the scientific theory of the winds, mechanics of rigging a ship and tactics used in various naval battles. In the absence of evidence to the contrary, he could trust the captain to be a good judge of her seaworthiness and simply see the ship as being 'beautiful.'

The inventor leaned on the railing and watched the dancing lights of Quay de la Grenouillére reflected in the wine dark waters of the Seine.

"She's all settled in now." Louis explained joining him at the rail "the other horses told her not to be frightened…I think they've traveled this way before."

"That's good." Siroc nodded. Absently he tried to smooth down the boy's spiky blond fringe.

Louis looked at him strangely. It was unseemly for a commoner to touch the person of the king…he'd been told that all his life – for some reason he was reluctant to correct the young guardsman. 'What hurt will it be' he wondered, 'if I pretend just for a while that I'm not XIV and just be Lew for a while?' "You said I was your nephew." The boy said quietly.

Siroc nodded, "A necessary deception Majesty, "Bernard is not a nice man…he and his companions would have made things very dangerous for us if he recognized you. Still I could not permit him to think you a…Well it is enough to say that he attempted to insult not only myself but you and the entire musketeer corps."

"You sure showed him…I don't think I've ever seen anyone that mad before." The boy smiled shyly, "I believe I shall keep this disguise a while longer… You may refer to me as Lew…uncle."

The young inventor smiled back at him; gratified that he was taking so well to the situation.

Just then, a figure lurched out of the shadows and stumbled up the gangplank. Siroc reached for his blade ready to defend the boy with his life…but it was D'artagnan's hoarse voice that called out – set sail…NOW!

The cry was repeated from the pilothouse. "You heard 'im boys… Cast off… sweeps out!"

Siroc and young Lew struggled to keep their feet under them and out of the sailor's way. Men of all description swarmed the deck. Ropes off, the ship slid from her berth and crawled along on silent oars till they could furl the sails and then she flew like a bird before the wind.

When things settled a bit a bear-like figure vaulted over the railing of the pilothouse. Siroc imagined he could feel the deck shudder at the impact.

"Dart my boy," the captain called…and strode purposefully over to the dark cloaked figure leaning against a stack of barrels on deck… "You're hurt!"

"Hurt!" the declaration nearly made Siroc's heart stop. He rushed to his companion's side. Unwilling to leave the young king at the rail alone he dragged the boy unceremoniously after him. "What happened?"

"I'm alright… just a bit singed… that's all." The legend's son smiled weakly and coughed. Siroc could smell burnt hair and cloth… and it was clear his friend was favoring his right arm.

"What were you doing near the warehouse fire?"

"Warehouse? No, After I left my father… delivered the letter and was making my way out… someone noticed the Cardinal's wing was aflame…I got drafted for the bucket brigade…Sparks everywhere. Part of the balcony collapsed on me." He coughed again, "Would have been here long since… but thought it would look suspicious if I didn't help…someone might peg me for the arson."

"I've got some salve in my bag." Siroc said, Turning to the captain he suggested, "Help me get him to the cabin." Then added as an afterthought "Some light would be good too; I'll need to get a better look at those burns."

Lew trailed behind them in wonder – who would set Uncle Mazzie's apartments on fire? Everyone knew those rogues in the parliament didn't like him. Usually they were a timid lot, all bluff and bluster but what if Mother should need him? The boy bit his trembling lip. He'd never been away from her before.

-o-o-o-o-

Ramón and Jacques were playing cards in the cabin when they carried D'artagnan in. Siroc assumed both had traveled by ship enough times that the novelty, that had kept him at the rail, had worn off.

"What happened!" Jacques exclaimed…voice cracking like a first-year-cadet.

"I'm all right." The Gascon snapped curtly– he smiled at her though, so she would know he had been touched by her obvious concern.

Siroc and Ramón wrestled D'artagnan out of his soot-covered blouse…Porthos held the lamp so they could better examine the red and slightly blistered skin. Jacques rummaged through the bags to find some bandages and the bottle of Salve Siroc described.

"Not too bad." The ad hoc medic agreed. Siroc had seen (not to mention endured) similar injuries often enough to know they were more an inconvenience than anything else. If kept clean, salved, and wrapped they would heal well enough.

Clearly, the worst injuries were to the underside of D'artagnan's forearm, which had sustained cuts and bruises as well as burns.

"The balcony collapses and instead of running like a sensible being you cast your arms to the heavens to protect your pretty face hmm?" Ramon jabbed the patient's ribs playfully.

"Well, God knows it is one of my best assets." D'artagnan smirked back at him. Jacques rolled her eyes at them both.

Porthos' booming laugh filled the small cabin "Just like your pa… Don't you know you needn't be beautiful ta please the ladies! A queen is no different than a barmaid in the dark."

"Really!" Louis gasped eyes wide. Come to think of it, He had never seen his mother in the dark, and he'd never seen a barmaid at all…but he was sure such information could one day prove quite valuable.

"Well, some are more or less practiced in the art of massage." The captain thrust his thumbs behind his wide lapels and bragged: "I've been with Princesses, Queens, Tsarinas and Matriarchs…even a Sultana...none hold a candle to my Allie though. Best massage this side of…."

"Ah…Captain, this is…" Siroc tried to silence the verbose man before he launched into a colorful recitation unfit for the ears of a young king. But the boy hastily cut him off as well. "I'm Lew…Uncle Siroc said I could come." He held out his hand. The angle was a bit awkward… more appropriate to one that expected the proffered appendage to be kissed rather than shook.

The captain didn't seem to notice and engulfed the slim fingers in his ursine paw, careful not crush them.

"Welcome aboard lad." He smiled warmly; I hope you enjoy the adventure.

"Uncle Paulie," D'artagnan almost whined, "You know I always worry when YOU use that word 'ADVENTURE'."

"And just what would you call it my boy-o?" he grinned.

"Nice peaceful transport?" his nephew said hopefully.

"Ha! Well, we'll see. Once we reach the channel...we'll see." Porthos winked at him. "Well I'd best get back on deck. You lads try to get some rest now while you can." The large man suggested as he took his leave.

D'artagnan sighed forlornly "That doesn't sound encouraging…does it."

o-o-o-o

Many miles away, Emris de Ruse sat reading by the light of the fire. The Philippe had finally fallen asleep on the settee beside him. It had taken seasons of careful encouragement to get him to rest anywhere but wedged the little stone niche more appropriate for a closet.

In the beginning the frightened boy would start an even the smallest sound and cower eyes shining, animal like, in the darkness. Emris had seen a painting a Moorish prince once, wrapping the child's head with a towel in a similar fashion seemed the only way to ease his. Progress had been slow but there had been improvement.

"Poor child." The scholar breathed caressing the dark curls out of Philippe's face. When awake, the haunted prince still shunned most forms of physical contact, not so this evening. The sleeping boy smiled and nuzzled into Emris's hand. He murmured something in his sleep. The scholar was perplexed. It sounded like the boy had said, "Butterfly."

-----------------

Chapter 9: The Voyage: Is that Adventure I see on the horizon?

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	9. Chapter 9: the Voyage

-----------------

Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney, Hallmark and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 9: The Voyage

Some time after dawn sleep shattered with the sound of cannon fire. As one, the young musketeers tumbled from their hammocks …Ramon a bit sleep tangled greeted the floor rather unexpectedly and was decidedly more alert when they reached the deck then he would have been on an equally early morning in the Garrison.

"Maybe we suggest Duval put hammocks in barracks," D'artagnan quipped "It may cut the Coffee consumption by half!" Jaques snickered,

"Cannon fire…is sobering enough thanks." Ramón growled, and winced as his headache intensified with the next round.

Captain Porthos was grinning wildly, "Nor'easters Norrington hasn't found our range yet…that was supposed to be over our bow. How are we on contraband lads…should we let 'im board us today?"

"NO!" the young Musketeers exclaimed with one voice.

"You heard them by bonny Boy-O's let's run!" The commander called and his sailors swarmed the ratlines. The ship lurched forward and banked solidly to the right. "Andie to the wheel… Etienne, Anton, Armor up!" The Captain was in his element and loving every moment of it.

Three youths…not more than 13-years-old scrambled out of the hold. A lithe lass with shining blond hair shot into the pilothouse, likely this was 'Andie.'

The other two, Anton and Etienne lifted hinged trapdoors in the deck along the rails and pulled out lengths of metal chained together and slipped them over the side of the rail. There was a definite –clunk- as they fastened to something just below the waterline. "Were ironclad Captain!" the smaller of the two called with an impishly smile. The other youth noticed Siroc's curious gaze, "Bands of steel keep the timbers from splintering…and reflect the shot too." he said by way of explanation – "We know a great smith, Will can make almost anything… magnets keep the top bits in place." He smiled with pride the inventor knew all too well; this was likely the boy's own design.

"Wouldn't they attract the…" Siroc began but the –BOOM- of the next sally drowned out the word "Cannonball."

Just then, Lewis stumbled on deck knuckling the sleep from his eyes. "It is not yet noon. Stop this at once! I'll have you know I am the …mmmmfmmml." Jacques arm around his mouth as she tackled him to the deck prevented further speech. As did the next uncomfortable close shot.

The ship caught a glancing blow and shuttered in response, but as promised, the steel bands dissipated most of the force. The newly repositioned sails swelled and the attacking vessel quickly shrank in the distance.

"Un-hand me you…you… 'Schiavo' I could have you flogged." Lewis shook Jacque off and crawled blindly away -- Bumping into Siroc's legs as he did so.

The young inventor knelt to help the boy up. "Please do not say such things, my lord." Siroc whispered, that Italian term 'slave' coupled with the word 'flogged' caused him undeniable pain and disappointment shone in his eyes. "You do not know what it means."

No threats…no insults…no bribes…or fawning…he simply said please. It was the 'please' caught the young king's attention. This Siroc was unlike any who had ever had charge of him. Lewis bit his lip and nodded. "We are unused to being manhandled in such a fashion…but we understand…Lew…Lew would not react so. I, I will try and not let such things upset me. You may tell the man I shan't have him flogged after all.

"I think you should tell Jacque yourself…if not for his quick action you could have been hurt. I expect that is one thing you could use a little practice in-- Lew. It's called an apology." Siroc smiled warmly and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, gently guiding him back to the cabin.

And so it can be noted that on at least one occasion the King of France has been induced to apologize.

-o-o-o-o-

Some time later Lewis leaned on the rail by the bowsprit and watched dolphins frolic about: leaping, diving and dancing in the waves. "They seem so free." The boy sighed.

"This is their element, it's where they belong. You however, have been in the sun too long. Come inside for a bit or you will be as blistered as D'artagnan is. I've only got so much salve. Siroc smiled.

The young royal obeyed.

Etienne, Anton, Ramon, Jacques were playing Brelan in the galley. D'artagnan was leaning stiffly against the wall watching when Siroc and Lewis entered.

The larger of the two lads looked up from his cards and asked hopefully. "Are you three going to play the winner?"

"I think not Anton." D'artagnan smiled. To Siroc he whispered, "Uncle Paulie…is one of the finest card sharps I've ever seen…but young Etienne is too like him…I haven't caught him at it yet but his skills are a might uncanny, if you get my meaning.

As if to prove D'artagnan's point Etienne exclaimed joyously, "Praise God! The holy trinity! Take note and despair gentlemen -- three of a kind!" The slim youth grinned. And the others groaned in dismay.

"Oh, Oh I like this game!" Louis called…nearly beside himself with excitement. "Can you teach me?"

"To play… or to win?" Etienne winked playfully at him.

"Oh my dear fellow," Lewis smiled regally, "I only play to win."

"I am out" Anton smiled, and gratefully laying down his cards and offered his seat to Lew. "Games aren't really my thing… I'd much rather read." He said moving to a bench near by with his book 'A Dissertation on Architectural Geometry' by Luca Bartolomes Pacioli

D'artagnan found this unspeakably amusing "Are you sure you two weren't swapped at birth?" the young Gascon laughed.

Siroc looked confused.

"That's right… You haven't been properly introduced have you?" D'artagnan recalled and with a flourish that would have done Ramon proud, he introduced. "Siroc…my cousins: Etienne de Ruse and Anton Porthos"

If one were to judge the two boys wholly on physical characteristics D'artagnan's pronounce meant would have seemed at odds. Anton was a big lad as suited one of the Porthos lineage and Etienne was slight and a bit mouse like… with dark inquisitive eyes fitting of the scholarly De Ruse name. It was their personalities that seemed to have somehow been transposed.

It was hard to imagine any lad who shared a even a drop of blood with the great Aramis to possess the roguish qualities Etienne blatantly exuded. Likewise, one would not expect to describe any Porthos as a quiet, studious unassuming lad…yet here they were; living examples that children are not apples and can indeed fall far from their roots of the family tree.

"You are Emris's!" Siroc gaped at the young gambler.

"His sister Kate Lynn's actually by Gryphon." Etienne explained, "My Sire had no proper surname so he took hers instead.

"But you're Porthos's?" he asked the strapping scholar."

"Distaff side again my fellow." Anton admitted, "Paulie's sister, Sweet Marie by Tan…he uses the name Brand now, but likewise had no surname to pass on.

Siroc was taken aback. He recognized those names, Tan and Gryphon Serious about Siroc. Not only were these boys unique in their bearing and temperament… They were uncommon at a deeper level. Their Sires …Like Siroc himself had come from the darkness of the citadel…They had been shaped by the cruel hand of their Master; Richelieu rather than Mazarin… but the technique was the same. Still these boys were proof that their fathers had not let their unnatural beginnings stand in the way… someone accepted them, found them worthy of love and helped them create families of their own. "That would mean you are both…" Siroc began, eyes wide

"…A might uncommon, by nature of birth." Etienne finished for him.

"Humph!" the X-slave exclaimed contentedly and smiled–his mind raced, "Perhaps my past won't dominate my future. I really DO have family. There is hope. I am not alone! "Any other surprises around here I should know about?" Siroc asked half-teasing.

"Actually that would be Andie…Short for Anna Dee…She's Protector's by Captain Jon." Anton nodded.

"Protector…" Siroc caught his breath that was the one Chosen referred to as 'the Master's heir.' What could one expect from the one designed to succeed Richelieu yet had the courage to refuse him?

"Are we going to PLAY or NOT!" Lewis whined, and the others were happy to indulge him… The young royal actually managed to win 5 out of 8 games…and it didn't look like Etienne was helping him…much.

Siroc was proud to note that Louie did not through a single tantrum when he lost…and only sulked a little.

-o-o-o-o-

The next day the blond Mariner lass announced "Bad Storm coming." She dangled one handed from the ratlines before dropping to the deck. But the sun shone bright and clear.

"You must be mistaken little one" Ramón smiled "'nare have I ever seen… A sky that is so pristine. Oh, brilliant hue…soaring majestic ever blue. And Sea of sullen dove like gray…they'll be no storm for us today." The Spaniard Rhapsodized gleefully.

Captain Porthos frowned. "Don't second guess a mariner… even a little 'un." The large man knelt on one knee to be eye-to-eye with Andie. "So lass, how long do we have? Can we make port or should we batten down and try to ride it out?"

"Ridiculous" Ramon scoffed, "you'd let a child decide… Aren't you Captain here?"

"Andie's got salt in her veins…boy, She's near kin to Papa Sea…He tells her things regular seamen …let alone a land-laddie like you would deem uncanny." Captain Porthos crossed mighty arms over his barrel like chest and loomed over the poet, "If all your kinfolk are as closed to the shifting currents as you are…I can guess why Papa Sea gave your famous armada such a hard time not so long ago." Then the big man shrugged. "You'll learn…sooner rather than later I expect."

And he did.

Less than three hours later, a smudge appeared on the horizon. Sails were taken down, booms lowered and everything that would fit was taken below decks. The horses were swathed in blankets and given a potion to soothe them. Storm anchors were let down on all sides and everything that could not be taken off deck was covered in tarp and lashed down solidly…Still the Spaniard was dubious. "Superstitious over reacting!" he growled.

When the 'smudge' devoured the sky from horizon to horizon and pelted the decks with hail the size of robin's eggs … Ramón was forced to concede the point. The ship pitched and hove… D'artagnan and Jacque fell into one another and remained in an almost indecent tangle for longer than one could believe fully accidental. The sullen Spaniard took no notice, as he sat cross-legged on the deck 'in deep meditation' over a bailing bucket at the time.

At the height of the storm Lewis demanded the clouds "Just go someplace else, take the waves with you… and leave us alone!" then wept inconsolably into Siroc's shoulder when it was apparent nature did not recognize his royal authority. Finally when his sobs eased Siroc promised they'd be traveling on horseback or in carriages soon and avoid further 'Adventures' as much as possible.

Of the six anchors that had been laid, only two remained. The ship limped into the mouth of the Fleuve de Loire three days later. Captain Porthos promised there would be smooth sailing the rest of the way, and they would pass some of the most beautiful scenery in all of France on the way to the port at le Feré. But Siroc had given his word to the young king. "Put us ashore if you please sir…we'll be taking the horses here on in."

The captain was reluctant to let them continue on their own but finally conceded. "We'll head into the Quai de la Fosse if that's what you've a mind to."

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Chapter X: Change of Scene… the adventures disembark. The Journey inland begins…with some delays.


	10. Chapter 10: Change of Scene

Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Unto JeanTre16 for being my beta. Hopefully I have used your suggestions to good effect. Thank you.

Chapter X: Change of Scene

Captain Porthos leaned idly on the rail as young Andie expertly brought the great ship gliding in the port of Nantes. "You're sure you won't reconsider?" the large man asked the young musketeers "It's a fair distance overland. By my reckoning nearly 137 lieue de post… that's about 8 days of travel."

"We'll have to take that chance." Siroc shrugged…He had given Louie his word and that was all there was to it. Beside which, his other companions seemed just as eager to be continuing on horseback. D'artagnan and Jacques both were looking somewhat haggard this morning and Ramon had yet to recover his appetite… a clear indication of how profoundly the storm affected the poet.

"We can make our own way thank you." D'artagnan stated tugged idly at the bandage over his blistered forearm. The legend's son loved his uncle Paulie (there was no denying that) He even felt a bit guilty about leaving. On the other hand, D'artagnan half-suspected the mischievous Captain of putting them in jeopardy simply to 'enhance the experience'. There was no telling what 'other adventures' the man had in store for them.

"At least take Andie and the lads with you. They have made the trip with Athos a few times. It's rough going…You'll need guides."

"We'll be fine." The D'artagnan snapped at the man. "It shouldn't be difficult to follow the river. Besides…We don't have enough horses." It was true Dart had not seen his young cousins in years… but even when they were small, they were almost as adept at finding trouble as uncle Paulie.

Siroc was taken aback by the young Gascon's vehemence; his attitude seemed to stem from a fundamental mistrust of his young cousins.

Siroc couldn't help but wonder if D'artagnan's unwillingness to include the youths was because they were inheritors of the unnaturally legacy of Richelieu's arts. And feared what his friend would do if they knew Siroc himself shared that dark heritage.

Though Etienne and Anton hid it well, both were stronger, faster and perhaps a bit more cunning than was 'natural' for others their age. The young Inventor had hoped he would have the opportunity to spend time with others of 'his kind'. Now, fear awoke in him anew…The X-slave kept his secrets carefully closeted in his heart. He feared being rejected by those who had become so dear to him, Still, this opportunity to observe children born to others like him held undeniable appeal.

Captain Porthos, was un-swayed by D'artagnan's remarks and turned on the young Gascon, wagging his finger at him. "Last time you visited Berry you came direct from the capital through Orléanaise you've never traveled this way before. You have no experience with this approach. You, my lad… are looking for excuses not to take my advice." The big man sounded hurt. "And your excuse is pathetic. The young ones can get horses fine enough at the market here in Nantes."

"I have a good map" Jacques offered, trying to mollify the legendary Porthos. "Musketeer cartography trip 1640, if I remember correctly. Were you still active in the corps then?" She asked.

"We didn't transfer to the Berry Regiment till '42." Porthos brightened at the memory. "Athos was tactics and Aramis academics. Both led the map trek a time or two. I can still locate all the good inns between Paris and Calais blindfolded but my handwriting was never good enough to be official so I taught improvised weaponry. Your cousins, young as they are, have been schooled just as we used to train recruits in the old days. You'll not find them lacking."

Siroc regarded his companions thoughtfully before finally weighing in on the topic, careful to keep his true motives concealed. "Before becoming a musketeer all I knew of the country was from books and charts. Since then, I have come to realize first-hand experience is a valuable aid. If you say Etienne and Anton can guide us then, provided they wish to do so, I don't see why they shouldn't."

"I think… I have to agree." Ramon said slowly "It will be a long while I hope before I underestimate someone simply because of their years."

And so it was decided. Octet of adventurers bid Adieu to Porthos and the crew of the recently re-christened _"Allie's Delight," _ promising to meet them in le Feré. Most supplies for their trek had been found in the Schooner's ample hold, the rest was easily acquired in the nearby market. Soon all was in readiness.

o-o-o-o

They sat around a table in a small café looking over Jacques map and discussing the journey.

"Best just to follow the coast…" The Gascon yawned.

"The way's not so straightforward on horseback." Anton explained, pointing at the map. "We wouldn't want to follow the Loire River all the way. That would mean going north to get east." Not even D'artagnan could deny the large boy was correct.

Etienne chimed in next, tracing the route with nimble fingers. "It's easy to trace the Loire when it is great and wide the place the Cher river feeds into it. We can stop at Anjou and Tours. The complicated bit is to find our way through the wilds of the Sologne and into Berry." The slim youth explained.

Just then, a boisterous gentleman entered the café and called out to any who would hear him, "Moliere is released from Grand Chatelet! the show must go on!"

"Moliere? Here!" Ramon asked excitedly. "We needn't set out immediately do we?" the poet begged. The others saw the excitement dancing in their friend's puppy-brown eyes. "Can't we visit his Theatre Illustre, just for a bit?" The Spaniard had been feeling quite low since the storm and the others decided to indulge him.

o-o-o-o

The doors of the Croix Noire were opened at one o'clock; the curtain rose at two. Lewis of course expected to be seated high in the dedans among nobles. But on a guardsman's budget, the others knew the five pence admission would be better spent elsewhere. For two pence-halfpenny, they had the privilege of standing in the pit before the stage.

Those less accustomed to the theater found it difficult to believe that an hour before this had been a common tennis court. Its sudden transformation, into a stage, was nothing short of extraordinary.

Tapestries hung round the court. A flute and tambour, and two fiddlers (which were quite good) supplied the music as the audience waited for the main entertainment to begin. The actors struggled to get through the heavy curtains, occasionally knocking off a hat or leaving a wig askew as they entered and exited the stage area. This only added to the comedy as the last preparations were made.

Large candles in tin sconces lined the back and sides of the stage. A man standing near them --Auey Perrault: a regular attendee and confidante of Moliere-- explained to an eager Ramon that prior to actor's unfortunate stint in debtor's prison, luxury had gone so far that a chandelier of four candles had been suspended from the roof. At intervals during the production the candles were let down by a rope and pulley, and any one within easy reach could snuff them with his fingers.

Ramon, D'artagnan, and Siroc suddenly stood shoulder to shoulder. Lew, Etienne and Anton stood in a cohesive huddle before their musketeer chaperones. Still it took some effort not to be elbowed apart by the milling crowd as the area around the stage filled with eager patrons. A hush descended on the throng as the performance began. It was a short play called 'the The Flying Doctor.'

Though each stood a scant hands-breath from their companions, their view of the performance varied tremendously. Lewis, like Ramon, was entirely taken with Moliere. The famous actor was cast in the roll of a seemingly simple valet named Sganarelle. In the course of the performance the man's acting talent was tested time and again as the valet impersonated a doctor and then the doctor's twin brother as well! The young king was astonished by the man's versatility and determined to one day see him perform again in Paris. But the others managed to prevent him from extending a personal invitation to call at the palace.

Siroc and Anton paid little attention to the performance or the story. Instead, captivated by the system of pulleys and scaffolding which permitted the actor to fly, they had their heads bent together whispering like a couple of schoolgirls. By the end of the show, inventor and architect had a hypothetical design for a brace and harness that could pivot and permit even an unskilled acrobat to safely twist, flip and fly through the air-- like an acrobat without tangling the wires.

Etienne was nonplussed by what he called 'banal costumes and tawdry humor.' He leaned back to comment to the others from time to time…Even noting he was positive he "could produce better." D'artagnan smirked at the remark, His uncle, the illustrious Aramis, would have said the same. "Perhaps Etienne is a de' Ruse after all." D'artagnan reasoned. In truth, the Gascon's thoughts had been elsewhere during most of the performance. Jacqueline and Andie had opted to wait outside guarding the supplies and horses. The legend's son wished he had stayed with them and silently fretted over their safety.

o-o-o-o

Outside, 'the girls' lazed on the shore overlooking the estuary. The horses grazed contentedly nearby. Behind them soared the ramparts of the fortress Château. It was a stunning day. The blond mariner lass lay sprawled out on the grass chewing on a piece of grass. Her crystal blue eyes drank in the world as parched soil takes in the rain, missing nothing. Jacques regarded her from beneath the shade of a gnarled oak tree.

Andie was younger than Etienne and Anton and quieter. Since Jacques first noticed the child on deck she'd heard the girl say no more than 10 words, but when she did speak others deferred to her, more often than not. Even the captain listened to her council… Ramon told them she predicted the storm but there had to be more to it than that.

'What could such a young girl have done to be placed in such a place of responsibility?" the Jacques wondered it seemed there had to be more to the skinny child than met the eye.

Andie on the other hand, knew very well there was more to 'Jacques' than met the eye. Without any preamble the young girl announced, "You are not the first you know." her voice was quiet and had a music to it that spoke of the wind and the wave.

"First?" Jacques asked the lithe blond innocently.

"La feme Musketeer of course." Andie said with a pert smile deftly flicking the piece of grass she'd been chewing. It flew into the air like a shot then soared lazily into the river. She continued casually, "In the tradition of Joan of Arc and Jeanne Hachette…Ma mère also is a chevalier."

"Your mother… a knight! How?" Jacqueline gasped in surprise.

"She was raised by and among the guard." Andie smiled, "Ma mère was their mascot at first I think. When I was little Trev and Jury used to tell me stories about when they were cadets… They taught her blade work using a long knife. She was tiny…not more than five, but she'd mastered all the principal moves and even some of the trickier ones." Andie explained pride in her voice.

"Who are Trev and Jury?" Jacqueline wondered aloud, the names seemed familiar. Perhaps D'artagnan mentioned them before.

"The ones that gave Athos and Aramis the idea that Guard could be legends of course; Captain Trivelle of the Musketeers…and Captain Jurassk of the Red Guards. Captain Style de la Roche of the Cavaliers too and others but they were gone before I was old enough to remember them. The whole lot of them helped raise mama and when she was older and her skills manifested, none of the blade-bound in the corps would permit anyone to turn her out. She raised in the ranks the same as they did and earned her commendation."

"What does 'blade-bound mean?' The musketeer asked.

Andie smiled, "If you don't know, then the people of Berry la Feré have done their duty. Richelieu's been gone long enough that there probably aren't any of HIS left in the king's guard.

Jacqueline raised an eyebrow, "You didn't answer the question." She pointed out.

"True enough," Andie sighed "The Blade Bound, were young men and boys Richelieu decided were too dangerous to be permitted civilian life. He had them rounded up and trained under extreme conditions and exacting discipline… to be unquestioningly loyal soldiers. Later he used other means to ensure they were different from normal guard."

Jacqueline wasn't quite sure what the girl meant by different but something in the way she said it forestalled any question the elder woman might think to ask so Andie continued her narrative uninterrupted.

"If Richelieu had kept his elite together, no force could have opposed them. But, against the recommendations of his Chosen, the Cardinal opted to use them as ambassadors, enforcers, and spies." She grimaced. "As a result, they were dispersed to all corners of the nation."

"What happened?" Jacqueline asked wondering why her military history course had not mentioned such a seemingly decisive initiative.

The blond shrugged, "Eventually, Richelieu's power – spread too thin, failed, then Ma mère was free to act and things could change. Despite their rough start, some of the Blade-born brought to Berry managed to start families of their own. That is where we come from; Etienne, Anton and I are considered half-blood because one parent is blade-bound and one is normal…Of course my papa not exactly normal ether as mariners are unique in their own way."

"If Richelieu only trained men and boys, how is it your mother was even among their ranks in the first place? Jacqueline asked fingering her false beard thoughtfully.

"Before Mama was born Richelieu designed her to be his heir. She was born to rule yet shares his blood and his power. She is able to command any trained or shaped by his arts. She refuses to use them as he did. To us the blade-bound are 'Family.' In many cases, we are the closest thing they have. Blade-Brothers, and Sisters, Uncles and Cousins… among Berrichons everyone is pretty much 'casual kin' with everyone else."

"What about you? You share her blood, can you command?" Jacqueline asked.

"I'm half-blood, mostly I'm mariner. I have the weather eye from my sire that's my dominant gift. I am a bit of a Dream spinner too…I can touch a sleeping mind and push the nightmares away…but I can't heal or shape the way mother can." The girl confided. "We have certain special talents…things that make us a might unusual… Etienne has can predict patterns that seem random and Anton can read nature as simply as others read a book.

"It Sounds like Magic." Jacqueline breathed incredulously.

"It is…A bit." Anna Dee shrugged; to her; and those like her, that was just 'life'.

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Chapter XI: Journey on: Making ones way across the Loire valley is not a matter to be undertaken lightly…but there are worse ways to spend your days.

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	11. Chapter 11: Journey on

Chapter XI: Journey on: Making ones way across the Loire valley is not a matter to be undertaken lightly…but there are worse ways to spend your days.  
-----------------  
Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney, Hallmark and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter XI: Journey on

Lew rode Butterfly with joyful exuberance. He would pause and let the others go ahead then dig in his heals and gallop past. Then, before they drew along side, he would dart ahead again. The musketeers were content to take a slower pace drinking in the landscape: golden sand hillsides, blue water, crystalline rocks of the old massif, broom and silver birches line pastureland and the rambling forests.

They arrived at Anjou with out much difficulty. The town was a grey tangle sprawling like roots of tree forcing its way through the bones of the earth. The people called the place _la ville noire,_ the black city, because the active slate quarries employed most of the population.

Horse's hooves stirred up clouds of stone dust from the quarries. The travelers quickly found the abrasive powder worked its way into everything, making skin raw and throats dry. The irritant was so preservative many natives of Anjou seemed to share that same dower hue as the native stone buildings, bridges, and streets of their world.

By the time the adventurers reached the town proper, all were eager for a cool drink and perhaps a light meal at the local inn. In one corner of the common room locals were engrossed in a card game they called _ brusquembille. _Ramon recognized it as one he played as a child excepting in Spain it was called _ bezique…_ still it seemed the rules were the same.

The object is to promote in the hand various combinations of cards, which, when declared, entitle the holder to certain scores; the order of cards are Ace, Ten, King, Dame, Valet, Nine, Eight, Sevenand the suits are Cups, Coins, Swords and Clubs. Aces and tens are known as _ brisques _and the Ace is higher than the 10. To win the so called 'last trick' the dealer deals eight cards to each player, first three, then two, and again three. The top card of those remaining is turned up for trump.

Though _ brusquembille_ is normally played between two people, it can be played with as many as five. Etienne and Ramon eagerly joined in. Ramon hoped his other friends would stay and watch, perhaps even learn the basics if the game. It would be nice to play in the garrison from time to time or even pass the time when camping out on patrol. But it was not to be; the others of his party found the game difficult to follow and drifted off to a nearby table.

"I want to play Brelain." Lew whined, "Can't you make them play what I want to play?" Siroc was quietly trying to explain that even if you can make someone do what you want it does not mean you ought to… in fact there are often very good reasons why you should refrain from doing so. Suddenly, one of the card-players accused Ramon of helping Etienne cheat.

The proud Spaniard looked stung. "Do not question my honor Sir…I am a musketeer." Ramon declared with enthusiasm and unwittingly unleashed a firestorm.

The first sound of heavy chairs sliding backward across the wooden floor send Anton scuttling under the nearest table…dragging Lew along with him. The natives were on their feet in an instant, each one suddenly intent on causing trouble for the outsiders.

The beefy stoneworker, who had taken umbrage at Etienne's insatiable, luck swung first at Ramon thinking him the mastermind behind the con. The lithe Spaniard dodged. People rose to their feet, cards and coins scattered in all directions, tankards overturned and plates slid their sundry contents mingling with the sawdust and rushes strewn about the flagstone floor. "Royal dog are you?" the man growled. The others were quick to come to their companion's defense and a brawl of near epic proportions followed.

Amid the clatter and chaos, it became clear the card game had nothing to do with what was happening. Voices rose in anger and tempers flared. The man that lobbed a pitcher at D'artagnan's head cursed Mazarin as he did so. A barmaid joined in fighting with feet and nails insisting the Queen a thief and a crook and those that serve her are no better. Louis himself they declared was a selfish brat, a pig and worse. Hatred for those in power ran so deep that people irrespective of class, spoke openly of sedition even ousting the monarchy altogether. All seemed keen to exact retribution on the four servants of the crown within their reach.

Anton clasped young Lew to his chest as they huddled together behind a redoubt of table and chair legs. Shattered crockery rained around their ears as the chaperones sought opportunity to rescue them from the fray. The young king bristled and wriggled trying to extricate himself from the larger boys grasp. How could he remain silent when these people blamed him personally for everything from increased taxation to natural disasters, famine and plague?

Luckily, no one drew steel or things would have become inextricably worse. Finally, enough of the assailants were unable to continue the battle and the adventurers could make a break for the door. Jacques thought to toss her purse to the innkeeper but Anton stayed her hand. He pointed out that Etienne's winnings scattered about in the detritus was more than enough to cover the damage. Something in his care worn expression hinted that this was not the first time his companion's uncommon skills had caused such difficulties neither would it be the last.

Lewis's ire had been roused by the fracas and the others forcibly led him from the public house. "I do not like these people." The boy seethed, royal brow creased indignantly. "They will never be MY people! They are rebellious… unkind… and entirely too English." He pouted. "I can see why papa let his scheming brother Gaston be Duke of this place...They deserve each other!"

"Calm Lew, please…" Siroc cautioned him to hold his tongue, but the young king chose not to hear him. Everyone was all too eager to point his or her mount's tail to the unruly town, commencing the journey forthwith and with great haste.

"They're just alike…those people and uncle Gaston." Louis continued his rant. "Say one thing to your face, another to your back! Do you see what comes of it when dishonest persons confuse their own pockets with those of the crown? Nothing but trouble!" He scowled, "I should come back…and bring my army. I'll lay siege for a few months…see what that does to their purses… then I'll have dearest Uncle exiled and put someone I can trust over them!" He pouted. "After all the times XIII forgave his scheming too; I won't be as forgiving, just you wait!"

It was clearly time to move on. The horses were readied and they quickly put the black city behind them. The main road lay off to the right somewhere. The trail Anton chose was rough but he thought it wise to avoid further contact with the locals for the time being. Not even D'artagnan thought to second-guess the youth's decision.

"What was that about anyway?" Andie asked as they picked their way through the dense wood. She had been looking after the horses and had not witnessed what initiated the conflict.

Ramon believed she was referring to their young charge's royal rant and tried salvage the tattered vestige of Lew's anonymity. "You must forgive Siroc's nephew. He is a very unusual child." The Spaniard announced "I fear he suffers from delusions of grandeur…His father was a musketeer." Ramon tried to bluff the young guides. "He reads all the political books he can get his hands on then acts them out with his toys."

"Yeah right." Andie smirked incredulously and Etienne and Anton turned indulgent smiles on the Spaniard.

The subject had not come up before, but led D'artagnan to wonder just how much the perceptive cousins had deduced about the nature of their journey "What do you think of Lew?" D'artagnan asked Etienne and Anton cautiously once they were well away from the city.

"WE know who he is. The question Dart, is do you?" Etienne smiled; there was a mischievous glint in his eyes.

That was indubitably just type of glint that made D'artagnan nervous – Siroc alone took note of the Gascon's braced posture and the wary glances he cast at the young cousins…who chatted genially among themselves as they rode.

o-o-o-o

The gently rolling hills of Touraine were a balm to frayed nerves. From a distance, they saw several beautiful Châteaux…but avoided them in favor of staying in one of the small villages. Farmers, in stone houses with gray roofs and thorny hedges, lorded over rich flatlands, cows and sheep. Wheat, barley, corn, and grapes grew in abundance. This truly was as Ramón put it "the garden of France."

Etienne, still somewhat abashed at getting the rest into trouble in Anjou, promised to make it up to them by securing lodging for the night. After scouting the area he led them to a picturesque cottage and explained the farmer and his wife would gladly let them spend the night they stayed in the barn. This prospect Lew found truly novel.

The farmer's wife, a plump woman with a jolly disposition, offered them a hearty dinner of _Brochet au beurre blanc_. The fish was mostly flavorless but the sauce was rich, buttery, with a slight tang. There was also fresh bread and what Ramón declared was the tastiest goat's cheese he'd ever eaten.

After sunset, Jacqueline and D'artagnan slipped off within minutes of one another and found their way to the decorative kitchen gardens, where sheltered grape arbors and hedges of greenery, secluded benches arranged to facilitate private conversation. They talked a long while and returned to the barn smelling mildly of mint, sage and chamomile.

Some time later, in the dark of the night Jacques woke. Lew was crying softly. She saw he was still asleep but silver trails traced their way down his cheeks; he whimpered softly and nuzzled into Butterfly's flank – which he had been using as a pillow.

Though she dressed as a man…her maternal instinct was fully intact and she could not simply turn over and go back to sleep, neither could she cuddle the boy, as she longed to…without compromising her disguise.

Then she remembered her decidedly odd conversation with Andie while the others were at the play. Didn't she claim to be able to do something about bad dreams? Jacques nudged her gently awake "Can you help him?" she whispered.

Andie bit her lip thoughtfully as she watched the boy toss in his sleep then nodded. The girl gently brushed the bangs from Louis's forehead then cupped his cheek in her palm. The tip of each ring finger touched the hollow below his ears. She opened her mind to him, and was swallowed by his dream.

_The young king sat before a mirror in a gilded frame. He adjusted his wig and powdered his cheeks to an unnatural pallor. Eyebrows were darkened for effect. The lace collar and cuffs had to lie just so. He looked to his reflection for approval. "Is the mask who we are?" his reflection asked in a voice identical to his own, "What are we apart from it?" _

_Louis leaned in to the mirror. Suddenly the face looking back at him took on a nightmare aspect; a mask of metal and leather locked tight about his throat. The horrid construct hid his visage from the sun's caress… never to feel the breath of the wind on his cheeks he was a prisoner. _

_Never before had the specter of his dreams been so clear. The gleaming palace faded away and Louis found himself in sparse chamber with barred windows. A robed figure clenched meaty fists and prepared to use them with great effect. _

_The young king was nearly overwhelmed by the sense of fear and confusion, "Don't touch me!" he commanded the uncouth man. "I won't let him hurt us." He called glancing over his shoulder at his own noble face regarding him from the royal-chamber side of the frame. Lew turned his attention back to the black robed keeper and willed him…with all his might… to back off._

"You've always defended me, haven't you?" A voice, very like his, whispered from the other side of the mirror. Lew turned back to the glass to see that makeup, and fine clothes were gone from his reflection it seemed odd to see himself wigless as a peasant and dressed in rough journey clothes, but that must be how he appeared to the others on this unusual excursion.

"_Don't fear," his mirrored self whispered, "memory can't hurt us now that things are better. My present keeper is different from the others. He is kind. But I must know. Who are we without our masks?"_

_The young king ran fingers idly through tangled honey-brown locks, longer and darker than his hair had ever been permitted to grow. He enjoyed the feel of it and stripped the hateful mask from his face as if it had been made of brittle parchment. _

"_We are frightened, but we are free," he told his spiky blond alter ego. The other nodded, understanding. "Sun and moon, we are alone together." _

The nightmare released the young king as quickly as it had come, freeing him to return to his proper place and time. The young king was not as disturbed by this dream as another might have been.Years ago, before the old king died, Nana, the woman that looked after Louis, told him stories about creatures called doppelgangers: shadow-selves who accompany each human providing sympathetic company and support. These creatures are largely invisible except to the one paired with them. Some people believe they are guardian angels that listen and give advice to humans. Others believe they are mischief spirits who cause great confusion and get their owners in trouble. Louis didn't think ether view was correct. He had cause to know his doppelganger well. For most of his life Epée had been his only friend...all they shared were dream.

Andie was perplexed. The young girl thought she had a relatively thorough understanding of the way dreams worked. There was danger entering the mind of another. Richelieu intended to use gifts such as her own to harness the power of the dreaming mind making it tool to cause torment and fear… breaking spirit and mind.

Andie like her mother before saw this as a perversion of a gift God intended to soothe, comfort and heal never as a means to enforce their will on others…what she just experienced was unlike anything she had ever heard of or imagined.

"It's strange," Andie whispered. "I wonder if it happens to him often."

"What?" Jacqueline asked.

"The nightmare, if you want to call it that, didn't belong to him -- at least not all of it." Andie marveled. Through her gift, it seemed she had been a mute witness to two disparate souls separated and alone reaching out to find comfort in one another. A pale imitator like the old cardinal could never forge such a bond. It was a genuine miracle.

"Whose could it be?" Jacqueline wondered…the concept seemed so surreal; maybe in truth she was the one dreaming.

"I expect we may find out." The girl answered thoughtfully "Rest now. We still have a ways to go, and there is another storm coming.

o-o-o-o

At the place where the slow-moving Cher ends its northwest journey, merging its waters with mighty Loire, our little band set out into the little-visited area to the south called the Sologne. The Region has many moods, depending on the weather and the season. Fortunately, it was still quite warm in September and by in large the weather held. In late summer when the heather is in bloom and the ponds are full of water lilies the forests, lakes, ponds and marshes of the Sologne can be said to have a quiet magic – all its own.

Finally, as Lewis had been promised before setting out from the capital, they had the opportunity to do some hunting…Wild boar and deer roam in the wilds, not to mention duck, geese, quail and pheasant, which far outnumbered the small human population.

The king however had no concept of stealth; on previous expeditions in the wilderness, servants had driven game toward the hunting party. The young Berrichons taught him an entirely new way. Siroc was awed how easily Anton could locate a deer and pheasant and approach within mere feet of the wild creature without it taking fright. It was surprising to see one so large…move so gracefully. "You've got to move gentle and speak low when wild things are about." Gaston explained with a broad grin.

Andie recognized the proverb all too well. I was one of her father's favorites. Of course, Captain Jon had not meant conventional prey when he said it. The 'Wild Things" he spoke of were true predators on the hunt. Mother and Chosen had many extraordinary gifts but there were drawbacks as well, at times. In essence, Richelieu's meddling made them weapons. In peacetime, they needed to go out to run, let loose the beast within every few months: to hunt and kill, else they would become a danger to those around them.

This had been a governing fact of her life as long as Andie could remember. She knew that for ones such as they, the line between 'prey' and 'not-prey' can get mighty thin. Gaston though had grown up among gypsies and arena fighters, only occasionally spending summers in Berry. He did not know the rules. The young man had learned that -- regardless of his connection with nature – trying to sneak up on Chosen or Protector while they are _on_ _run_ can get a body pounced on hard enough to crack ribs.

The cousins taught Lew to stalk and observe prey from hiding and in the end – shot nothing. What could have been a trek through a sodden wilderness; actually turned out rather pleasant.  
o-o-o-o-o

In Paris however things had not been so settled. Cardinal Mazarin was so occupied with treaties and international relations -- plans to recall the army to deal with the turmoil of the Fronde -- that there was some question as to whether he noticed the king was missing at all. Great lengths had been taken to conceal Lewis' absence from the courtiers, most believed him ill. The Queen mother could not be said to have that diversion. She stayed mostly closeted in her rooms. Charles de Batz was beside himself as well. He had sent riders into the countryside discreetly seeking the runaway Royal. But he had been forced to recall them within a day's time when the people burst into open rebellion constructing barricades in the streets of Paris.

The Musketeers, Cardinal's Guards and Swiss Regiments all kept busy trying to secure even a fractious peace in the beleaguered capital. The spark of discontent had landed on the tinder of malaise and it seemed the resulting conflagration would not soon burn itself out.

o-o-o-o-o

Captain Porthos and the crew of _Allie's Delight_ arrived in Berry le Feré days in advance of their former passengers. In consequence, the captain spent quality time with his treasured barmaid Allie. He so enjoyed the homecoming that he considered re-naming the russet-haired beauty _ Dame Allie Porthos _instead of the ship… That is if she wouldn't mind becoming Mrs. Isaac Paulonius Olivier de Poitou.

He managed to acquire a ring some time ago. All that the irrepressible captain lacked was the courage to present it to her. And so the ship took the name _ "Marryme Alley."_ Truly the inestimable Allie didn't notice what was printed in bold golden letters across the ship's prow for several days. In response, she slyly inscribed the letters _ 'IDO'_ over the door to her cottage and after that "Porthos' pleasure" was secure.

o-o-o-o-o

When Porthos arrived in the port at Berry without the young Musketeers and their royal charge, Athos de le Feré did not take the news too well. In-fact he had all he could do to keep from ruining the captain's homecoming with accusations of dereliction of duty. In his heart the Count de la Feré knew Porthos was a private citizen and no longer a musketeer; thus he was able to serve the crown as he saw fit...this did not stop Athos from wanting to beat his friend about the ears.

The illustrious Count was still pacing his office like a caged beast when Protector found him. As the de facto keeper of the martial forces of Berry, Andie's mother had no qualms about intruding on the Count any time he needed council, whether the man knew to ask for it or not.

"They'll be all right," Protector confirmed, brown eyes glinting with flecks of green and gold. "Young Dart and his friends wouldn't be Musketeers if they weren't fully capable, Duvall knows the business."

Athos was not so easily reassured. "It's a long way overland. If Dart is anything like Charles was at that age, he could get lost in a bucket." The noble frowned. Protector watched him absentmindedly caress the pommel elegant belt-knife that hung where his saber ought to have been. She recognized the nervous habit, as a holdover from his musketeer days. She recognized the knife as well. It had been a gift from the old king, if she remembered correctly.

Protector tried again to ease her friend's fears. "You helped train Etienne and Anton. You know they are good lads and my Andie is with them. I've never known her sense of direction to fail. They'll be here in a couple of days."

Her words rang true; Athos knew it in his heart still he was reluctant to examine the emotion roiling within his breast. "Berry hasn't hosted a King since…" the Count faltered trepidation sharpening his tone. Thoughts of Louis XIII still filled the former Musketeer with emotion. He unconsciously gripped the hilt and nearly drew the razor sharp blade from its delicately tooled sheath. Could it be he was just as anxious about the party's arrival as he was by their delay?

Protector nodded wordlessly…Few understood the cause of his conflicted emotions as well as she did. The country had been clothed in mourning for months after the dreaded consumption stripped them prematurely of their king. Scholars lauded Louis XIII the annals of France named him _le lion_ and _le Juste_. But there had been a time when the four legendary musketeers and the people of Berry knew the monarch had been Just Leo. That had changed…as the young king aged he became increasingly dependant on Richelieu. There is no denying many hoped the cardinal's demise would remind the king of passionate young man he had been-- climbing trees in the Sologne, skipping stones on the shores of la Feré, and laughingly sparring with the guardsmen who were his closest friends. Sadly, it did not happen. In the end, words un-spoken remain closeted in the heart. Years pass but memories lay undimmed and the ache of loss remains.

"This Louis is young" Protector reminded "Perhaps we have him before Mazarin's hooks are in so deep they can not be dislodged. Berry can make all the difference; you know what we've done thus far."

"I don't know, Princes can be mighty spoiled…And you know how Anne is." Athos sighed.

"Don't underestimate what makes Berry special," Andie's mother cautioned. "Here all slaves are free…even those chained to the state by a demanding crown. I am sure this Louis will appreciate the opportunity just as much as the rest of us do…but first he goes to Aramis. There are certain matters that need to be dealt with and secrets long lost that need to come out into the light."

"I know. It's about time too. What do you think D'artagnan will say when he finds out?" Athos asked…Protector only shrugged.

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Chapter XII: Reunion: just what is says folks – enjoy.

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	12. Chapter 12: Reunion

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Chapter XII: Reunion: just what is says folks – enjoy.

-----------------

Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney, Hallmark and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

--------------------------------------------------------------------  
A hearty thank you for JeanTre16 my longsuffering Beta. I couldn't have done this without you! –Shiny--

Chapter XII: Reunion

The stuttering brilliance of lightning lit the sky but the travelers were both dry and safe. Thanks to Andie's impeccable weather sense, they had taken shelter in a cave. The king found the conditions 'simply deplorable'. But upon gazing long and hard out the mouth of the grotto, where rain came in great torrents and the wind shouldered its way through the trees like a massive beast, he agreed any shelter preferable to so solid a soaking. They were lulled to sleep by the rhythm of rain.

Dawn broke. The sky was overcast and there was a persistent drizzle. The chill in the air made everyone huddle in his or her cloak. "It is going to be like this all day." The young mariner girl sighed. "There is nothing anyone can do about it, and no use trying to wait it out."

The adventurers sullenly agreed to continue their journey, but it appeared this last leg would be the most trying. In foul weather, the Sologne becomes one of the most dismal areas in central France: damp, flat, featureless, and foggy. It was now the young guides became truly invaluable.

The soil was an impermeable mixture of clay and sand. Mirror-like pools quickly became slimy marsh…There were few roads; and paths grew treacherous and uncertain in the mist. Anton was amazing. By some uncanny means, the large boy could follow a trail…invisible beneath the miasma of rain and mud. Still, the travelers were often forced to dismount and lead the horses onto more stable ground.

"Under these conditions it might be best to ride double," Etienne suggested with a poignant shiver. "It will be warmer for one; and two, we will have remounts should one beast slip." The rawboned lad looked somewhat like a drowned rat hunched in his cloak, close-cropped hair pasted to his scalp like a skullcap.

No sooner were the words out of the young man's mouth when D'artagnan chimed in with, "Le Pont rides with me."

The vehemence of the comment immediately struck Siroc as odd… not because he suspected the Gascon was trying to protect Jacqueline's secret or simply taking advantage of a reasonable excuse to ride with his arms around her waist. Instead, the inventor's usually brilliant mind jumped to the conclusion that the man was reluctant to be saddled with one of his unnatural cousins for any length of time. Admittedly, he could not examine the observation with his usual thoroughness as Louis was the next to speak his mind on the matter.

"I will not place my butterfly at further risk." The young king announced haughtily. "You will convey me upon your mount…uncle."

"Of course…Lew." The inventor smiled graciously and helped the young royal to mount.

With a gracious bow, befitting one of his romantic temperament, Ramon swept his somewhat soggy hat before young Andie. "I would be honored if such a _muchacha_ _excepcional_"would permit this _soldado humilde _to convey you further.

"_Mucho gracias."_ Andie curtseyed stiffly… grateful that she knew enough of the pidgin language used on the docks to understand the compliment and reply in kind… there was even a slight blush on her rain drenched cheeks.

Etienne and Anton rode ahead of the others, testing the path and warning of unseen dangers. It was rough going but they covered much ground. The worst was fording burgeoning rivers swollen by the rain. The adventurers discovered another good reason to be riding double as the extra weight kept them from being swept down stream. Scrambling about in the muck spoiled the supplies lashed behind saddles.

"Its not far now," Anton encouraged. Rivulets of water dripping off his hair snaked down his collar and chilled him to the bone. "At least if we're moving it won't seem so c-c-cold. There's an inn where we can get a warm lunch… s-spend the afternoon by a fire. We'll be in la' Feré by n-noon tomorrow." The large boy shivered

"The Abbey" Etienne whispered. "We take them to the Abbey first…Emris is waiting. He'll have a meal and a fire. We were expected to arrive with the ship."

Anton could feel the younger boy shivering as much as he was, and was impressed with the determination in Etienne's voice. The trail to the abbey was a harder ride. Spirits, especially Lewis's, would flag…lord knew his own already had and he knew the reason for the journey. The rest would need something concrete to look forward to – without giving the secret away of course.

"All right…skip the inn." Anton forced a smile and tried to sound cheerful. "We dine at the Abbey. There will likely be delicious _lapin à la moutarde_ (rabbit in mustard sauce), a long warm bath, and a nap in front of the fireplace waiting for us. And of course, stories before bed… a real bed with clean sheets and a pillow. Omelets for breakfast and a whole day to rest body and restore soul; before we even need to contemplate climbing back in the saddle."

"Crusty baguettes fresh from the village bakery and wild peach preserves," Andie chimed in hopefully.

Etienne joined the litany as they rode. "Green salad topped with warm _Crottin de Chavignol_ cheese."

The description almost made Ramon drool. It also helped the others take their minds off the fact that the rain was coming down in buckets. The only drawback was that they were truly famished when they finally sighted the Abbey. Amid a tranquil land of farms and chestnut forests a monolith of gray stone rose from the midst of a country village. It was a singularly beautiful place; the wrought iron gate yawning open in warm welcome.

o-o-o-o-o

"Boys, you've come!" Emris de Ruse greeted them, relief written in his very posture. The tall man guided them into the hall. "I see these troublemakers have seen you safely to my door." The venerable former musketeer winked at Etienne, Anton and Andie. "Dart and Siroc I know… You must be Ramon." He smiled and held out his hand to the Spaniard. "I have heard much of the founding member of the Poetic Balladeer Society of Berry." The venerable scholar admitted. "The group you began on your last visit still meets once a month …Though I believe they call it the Berry Poetical Ballad Society at present."

Ramon beamed with pride. He was overjoyed that the seeds he planted on his last visit to this place were still bearing fruit, but it paled in comparison to acknowledgement of the poet-laureate among musketeers! Ramon took the older gentleman's hand in both of his own and clasped it tightly in greeting. "_Señor Arimtz _ I- I am much an admirer your works as well. It is indeed very good to finally make your acquaintance." Ramon faltered sincerity gleaming in his puppy brown eyes.

"Ah my works are old and tired, they barely keep the children amused." Emris admitted, "I rarely have time to devote to it. But do not loose your passion my friend it will be a great comfort to you over the years I am sure."

Etienne and Anton had long been counted among _'the children' _who sat in rapt attention whenever Emris could be persuaded reciting his stories or poems. Unbeknownst to the other adventurers, their journey directly involved another one of these _'children'_. 

Etienne sent his uncle a knowing smile and continued the introductions. "Uncle, I suspect you have not met our other companions. May I present Jacques le Pont and Lew le Grand."

"Good to meet the both of you…I've someone I'd like to introduce you to as well, but first some warm clothes and something hot to drink. I'm afraid I haven't much to offer. The brothers of the Holy Order who reside here tend to be somewhat ascetic, but I am sure we can find something suitable until your own clothes are clean and dry."

Etienne, Anton and Andie managed to find robes of fine brown linen in the appropriate sizes. After a warm bath the companions found themselves comfortably situated before a roaring fire in the sitting room, sipping something warm and sweet.

Jacqueline found it strange indeed to be clothed in what was essentially a dress, yet maintaining the façade of Jacques Le Pont… and of course, she could not pass up the opportunity to rib D'artagnan. Louis seemed most affected by the situation prancing about the room with the robe swishing about his ankles…likely pretending to be Mazarin.

Emris motioned to the doorway, eyes never leaving the young royal. A skittish figure dressed in various shades of brown entered. The boy clutched his hands nervously before him. His honey-colored hair was long like D'artagnan's but worn free, falling in his face. Absently the newcomer pushed the bangs revealing bright… intelligent eyes. That instant the young king looked up and gasped, "That peasant has MY face!"

The boy froze in what could only be described as abject terror. In a heartbeat, he dove behind Emris almost huddling beneath his cloak.

"It's all right Philippe, you're safe." The scholar soothed quietly, "I called him here."

Louis overheard the quiet exchange. His eyes grew wide with surprise. "Epée?" the young king whispered. The boy in question peered out from beneath Emris's arm, hands covering much of his face, bright eyes tear filled, looking through the 'V' of his fingers.

The discourse that followed baffled all except the two boys, and perhaps Emris who was more accustomed to accepting the unexpected as a matter of course.

"I know you Bright blade." Louis said awe apparent in his voice… "I am the sun!"

"Would the Sun laugh at the moon?" The boy, Epée, asked cryptically. "I can not fear the light I reflect… that would be silly." Philippe smiled shyly, but he looked older now, more confident.

The baffled musketeers exchanged glances – Emris had read twins sometimes have their own language… their own uncanny means of communication. Still he had not thought such things possible between two that had been separated since birth but separated they had been and little Philippe had paid dearly for the mischance of his birth. It was high time the situation was rectified. But there were more concerned here then the two royal twins. Emris braced himself to voice the secret he had kept for nearly ten years.

"D'artagnan…there's something I need to tell you." He drew the young Gascon away from his companions seated before the fire, but not so far that his friends could not overhear… The boy would likely need their support later and he wouldn't want to go over everything again. After another deep breath Aramis spoke. "Your so called Legendary father is just as human as everyone else, just as prone to making mistakes. I don't need to tell you your mother's Illness had been long and hard," the ex-musketeer said trying hard to be tactful. It was no secret, Emris and de Batz had not gotten along in years, but that was no reason to make things unnecessarily difficult on his son... "Charles found death was one enemy unfazed by both his fame and his martial skills. He could not bear to see the woman he loved, his Constance, snatched away from him inch by excruciating inch knowing there was nothing he could do to save her."

Emris paced the room in agitation. God this is difficult to say, he mused to himself, But Dart was not a child any longer and deserved to learn the truth. With military precision, the old soldier came to a halt before the young Gascon and continued the difficult tale. "In his weakness, Charles stayed away from home mourning your mother's death even while life clung tentatively to her frame. Athos, Porthos and I tried to be there for you as often as we could, but Gascony is not exactly next-door to the capital and our duties kept us bound. It was no secret you needed your father's care and he was not there for you. It is time you learned why."

"Charles was in no condition to look after you. There were far too many times he thought to follow Constance to the grave and would have succeeded had we not prevented him. He also had another dear friend: a confidant with a vested interest in his wellbeing. Even when Charles no longer listened to our council this courageous lady still had his ear. Your father was finally moved to pour his grief out to her. Though she was also married, it was no surprise he came to love her. In the fullness of time, this woman became with child. She had never before carried pregnancy to full term and there was a real chance this time would kill her.

"I have no doubt the loss of both the woman your father loved would have destroyed him…As before Athos, Porthos and I conspired against him. Our efforts kept him in bed largely unconscious for more than a week. And so it was your father was not with your mother when she died, neither did he see the twins born of his indiscretion. I tell you this because it was the fifth of _Septembre,_ 1638."

Young Philippe looked up from his place on the couch and cocked his head, "That is my birthing day." He announced shyly. "Emris made me cookies but they burned. I did not really mind, as this is only the second year I have marked the date. I'm surprised Lew is not more upset that you took no notice of his day. You were already on the way here so he missed having his big gala and everything."

D'artagnan stared at the boy as if he just spoke Greek. His mind whirled like a top and vision dimmed. For a few heartbeats Dart thought he might blackout. "His father…AND the Queen!" It was inconceivable. He didn't even register Louis seemed hardly surprised by the revelation that had just shaken his world to its very foundations.

The young king shrugged, "Philippe and I have shared dreams as long as I can remember. I never told anyone because I wasn't sure he was really real." Louis showered the room with his luminous smile. "When I first learned to use the Royal We, I thought it meant Him and Me. And as for missing MY birthday…" Louis struck a haughty pose and looked for a moment as if he were about to let loose a royal tantrum then, smiling wistfully announced, "Philippe has never celebrated as I did. I figure it's only fair that for once he got to make the most of the day." Louis nudged his newfound brother affectionately. "Besides, a fine Epée is kingly birthday present. I thank you all for bringing me to him."

The Gascon was still in shock; he simply could not process the information necessary to comprehend his illustrious father, was not only guilty of abandoning his wife and legitimate son but had also defiled the bonds of his marriage, betrayed his oath to the king committing treason. Charles de Batz Castlemore D'artagnan Sr. the one who set the standard so high his son could never quite measure up, had dared to bed the queen. Not only that, but the ruling king and this other boy were in fact his own half-brothers. Words failed him. The young Gascon could only blink and stare. It seemed uncle Paulie had been correct. Queens really were no different from barmaids in the dark.

Luckily, D'artagnan was among friends adept at reading his mood. They shifted the topic of conversation away from the startling revelation so he could grapple with the revelation in the privacy of his own mind. After some minutes, Siroc suggested Louie teach Philippe how play brelan. Etienne and Andie agreed to help. Anton hastily excused himself as well on the pretext of seeing if Emris's daughter, Kate Lynn, needed any help in the kitchen. Jacqueline really wanted to pull D'artagnan aside to tell him everything would be ok…maybe even to hold him for a bit...if that was what he needed. But 'guys' didn't DO that sort of thing and Ramón wasn't letting his Gascon friend out of his sight. Jacqueline mentally cursed her male persona and had to make do with sidling up beside D'artagnan hoping her mere proximity would be a comfort.

With the younger members of the party occupied the conversation could turn to weightier matters. "Your timing in leaving the capital was fortuitous." Emris nodded at the young musketeers. "I must thank you for all you have done."

Ramon held his head high and announced. "We are Musketeers sir. No thanks are required. Truly, it is our duty to protect our king. Someday, years from now I shall compose a grand ballad of this adventure…"

"But for now, you are going to keep things secret, yes?" Siroc reminded the indomitable Spaniard before launched into a ballad comparing their actions to some equally heroic deed or other-- Hannibal and the elephants perhaps. It WAS one of his favorites, still the inventor frowned, "There is still much about this business in the capital that does not add up."

"Mazarin's men are involved as usual," Jacques scoffed. If she and D'artagnan had been the ones to face Bernard and his cronies instead of Ramon and Siroc…well there's no telling what would have happened.

"Really? What evidence do you have of their involvement?" Emris asked suddenly interested.

"Nothing concrete; just what we have seen." Jacques began ticking off each point on her fingers. "Number one, before we left Paris there had been many thefts, vandalism and arson fires… more than ever recorded for a single season. The culprits seem very organized and there have been no arrests. This fact alone adds to the atmosphere of fear and unrest."

"Number two," Jacques said, pointing at her friends. "Siroc and Ramón saw Bernard with several of Mazarin's Guard out of uniform in the vicinity at the same time as a fire in the warehouse district. They wore heavy coats likely to protect clothes from incidental soot and sparks." She said smoothing down the folds of her borrowed robe.

"Number three." She continued with agitation in her voice. "The attacks seem to fall evenly on Mazarin's followers and his detractors but that would be irrelevant if certain parties had advanced warning. I saw the cardinal's men emptying his rooms in advance of a supposed attack of arson." She shook her head remembering D'artagnan's blistered skin and bruises… It would have been devastating if he had lost his life battling that fire.

Siroc nodded his agreement of her assessment "The question is whether he's the cause of the unrest in the capital or merely taking advantage of the situation to consolidate his power."

"True enough." Emris agreed, "I know his agents are responsible for feeding the unrest. Even so, I suspect things have gotten out of hand. The people, they are beginning, to call Frondeurs, have built barricades in the streets of Paris."

"_Fronde_; like _una honda_– a slingshot, yes?" Ramon asked, "_Capitán_ Bernard and his toughs carried slings. Siroc intimated the guardsmen used them to break windows. That is significant yes?"

"That is said to be what triggered the movement," Emris agreed then sighed, "But simply possessing what is essentially a child's toy is not enough to prove anything. His eminence is guilty of many unspeakable crimes." The Scholar exchanged knowing glances with Siroc as he spoke, "I suspect history will never have cause to know them. The late Cardinal Richelieu was no different; there are those who seek to canonize him. We must wage a secret war against such evil."

"I won! I won! I WON!" Louis cried joyfully from the other room. Through the arched doorway, they could see him holding Epée's hands. Together they danced gleefully about the room.

Emris smiled at the exuberant display, "Ramón spoke true earlier: We are musketeers. We must be content that we have done our duty. We have kept our royal charges safe in this time of unrest. It is enough."

"We are musketeers," Ramon, Siroc and Jacques reaffirmed their vow. D'artagnan weakly managed to add, "Our duty is to protect our King always." And the others added their voices to his own.

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Chapter XIII: Lasting Consequences

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	13. Chapter 13: Lastung Consequences

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Chapter XIII: Lasting Consequences

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Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney, Hallmark and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

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Chapter XIII: Lasting Consequences

For the most part, days drift in a leisurely fashion in Berry. One exception was the Great Q, an outdoor festival unique to Berry la Feré. Unlike saint's days and Holy days, this type of festival is called at a moments notice. It could be to celebrate something particular or simply to provide the laborers an unexpected break. When the first rays of dawn reveal the flag of Berry aloft on the pole in the town square, everyone knows they have till noon to complete any necessary labor. From noon to dusk they make ready for the festivities. As the sun sets, torches blaze and the fete begins and continues well into the night. Every celebration in Berry is a memorable event and there can be as many as six impromptu gatherings a year; but the first Q during the royal twins' stay in Berry was definitely something to behold.

Lewis was rather disconsolate, at first, expecting royal precessions and pageantry; it had been his birthday, after all, and he was accustomed to such things. Truth be told, he was sick to death of couriers and vying for his favor. It seemed most believed bowing and scraping to be an acceptable leisurely pursuit and backstabbing a neighbor's reputation an art form. The young king's expectations could not have been more wrong.

Firstly, the celebration was not for him. Louis XIV was not even the guest of honor. This Q was for the illustrious Captain Porthos and his Mistress Allie, joined in matrimony at long last. The legendary rover was finally ready to settle down and this exquisite damsel was the one to tame him. Of course, Count Athos went the extra mile on behalf of one of his oldest and dearest friends. He could do no less.

Aramis conducted the ceremony, despite his objections that he was not officially ordained. Athos gave the bride away, Anton was ring bearer and young D'artagnan tearfully stood in for his father as best man. The request had sincerely taken the young Gascon by surprise, and despite his presently conflicted feelings for his father, he was proud to serve Uncle Paulie in this capacity.

The next major surprise came as liveried guards brought the meat, spitted on large iron bars carried between them. There were four large stags, three boars and some fine sheep—cleaned, dressed and ripe for roasting. The Count bowed to the guard as the beasts were put in place over large roasting pits. Next Athos saluted the crowd assembled, rolled up his sleeves and donned an apron. The crowd watched expectantly as the venerable noble basted the meat with traditional Q- sauce. In the Palace, only the lowest servants in the scullery would perform such a menial task, which necessitated standing close to the open flame, not to mention the smoke and soot. Louis was stunned that any noble would willingly debase himself in such a way.

There was an air of ceremony to the de la Feré's actions, to be sure, but ritual without reality, is empty. Athos was not one to yield his place to servants once he had satisfied local custom. He stood firm, proudly turning the crank handle of the spit and fussing over the meat with the attention of an epicurean. His adopted son and heir, Grim, did likewise at the next fire pit. When the air was heavy with succulent aroma, Athos cut and served the meat to his people. The de la Feré was not the only one to contribute to the feast. In Berry, ALL were equal. Every family brought something-- fruit, salad, vegetables, bread cheeses, spicy sausages and a wide variety of desserts. All to be shared in common, regardless of class or station.

Such openhanded generosity was new to Louis. When he pointed it out to his twin, Philippe leaned over and whispered in his brother's ear, "The last shall be first and the first last." Epée grinned, ever alert. He drank it all in with wide-eyed awe.

The young king was not sure what his brother's comment meant except that it might not be such a good idea to shoulder his way to the front of the line. Still, he filed the cryptic saying away for further contemplation. In a very real way, Lew relished the fact that he was not the center of attention. Mother would have been appalled to see him snitching off the desert table like a common pageboy. The renegade king and his brother even crawled underneath one of the trestle tables to eat their purloined creampuffs, without a single un-approving glare from the adults. Several even winked at him as if fondly recalling boyhood intercessions of their own.

The wedding and feast were only two of many diversions of the evening. A Berry Q also featured games of skill and chance with prizes awarded. Philippe and Louis watched speechlessly as Ramón scurried monkey-like up a thin wooded stake, driven into the ground, to ring a bell hung at the top. The skillful Spaniard received a red silk ribbon and the kiss of a pretty maiden. There could be no doubt which of the two honors Ramón valued more.

There was also dancing at the festival. Louis's tutors had seen him agonizingly schooled in the proper steps almost since he could walk. He never had the opportunity just to skulk around the edges of the dance floor without having eligible young maidens thrust at him. At court, it was obligatory the young king lead the stately lines of coquettish couples as they traced each intricate pattern on the dance floor.

It was quickly evident that dances of Berry were not among the court repertoire. Louis found them simplistic by comparison; many did not even require a partner. People formed rollicking circles, spinning this way and that…rushing to the center then out again. The people's faces were exuberant and joyful. They laughed wholeheartedly and cheered one another on with reckless abandon.

No one cared if Louis participated or not, but the music beckoned. Soon Louis and Philippe were drawn together into the fray. It was thrilling and both boys found themselves flushed and quite breathless before too long.

Lew and Epée both marked the non-birthday, when they turned 11, as being the very best in every way. There were many reasons for this of course…Not least of which was the fact that it was the first they shared together.

-o-o-o-o-

In Berry, young musketeers and Royal twins alike, garnered memories they would treasure for a lifetime. There was horse riding, hunting, and treks in the wood, picnics and other pleasant diversions. D'artagnan spent many long hours showing Jacques around, as this was her first time to Berry. Siroc wondered at their frequent absences as it somehow fell to him to chaperone Louis and Philippe usually in the company of Etienne and Anton. In attempt to keep the young ones nominally out of trouble, the inventor taught them to make kites and model sailboats. Boat races and kite fights became popular picnic diversions for all. That is all but Ramon, who seemed more than content to watching the others and scribbling verses in his notebook. The Spaniard claimed that even light wind and small boats made him a bit seasick; No doubt a side effect of the 'adventure' with Captain Porthos.

Louis was unspeakably grateful that, just as the kite fought and danced about on the wind… the fish in the waters of Berry did likewise. The lunacy of his last fishing trip still riled the young king… that a courtier would presume he could not tell the difference between a live fish and a dead one was simply inconceivable. That uncle Mazzie tried to perpetrate the fraud made it even worse. Louis wondered that perhaps he should have been aiming to do more than put a scare into the man who waited in the weeds to ensure his hook never came away empty.

After a day of fishing, Etienne and Anton convinced the twins to strip down to their small clothes and frolic about in the cool waters of the lake. As they played, Louis noticed the pale blue stains still marking his brother's arms and chest. After some prodding from the others, Epée finally explained the dangers of using indigo ink to play warrior Celt. He even pointed out a woad plant growing on the shore but admitted, "Aramis and I never did perfect easily removable dye. Perhaps Siroc ought to make it his next project." The young prince suggested.

Louis in turn told how he marked himself in a similar fashion, using mother's lip-color, while pretending to be a savage from the new world. He even threatened to scalp the inventor. "Imagine. He hung upside down in the tree, sword in hand, and the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration." Lew mimed the activity and even Siroc, watching from shore, could not help but laugh. It was good to see the young king so relaxed. The destructive tantrums and stubborn pride seemed to wash away in the crystal clear waters of Berry. The young royal laughed and played like any normal eleven-year-old child. Of course, the taciturn inventor knew he was not a reliable judge of such things; but it was still nice to watch. Siroc wistfully considered joining in on the fun, perhaps…someday.

o-o-o-o-o

The young adventurers spent several wonderful months in Berry. Late summer burned away leaving a brilliant fall. Ramón led formal meetings of the BPBS - Berry Poetical Ballad Society. Everyone enjoyed many evenings of glorious Rhapsody in the gardens.

Those keen on observing might have noticed something more afoot in those same gardens, something that well might have greater consequences – albeit unseen ones -- than even the uprisings in Paris…For all, it started innocently enough.

"Stand up straighter. Royals don't slouch. Your crown falls off then everyone gets mad." Lewis was giving Philippe 'lessons'. Poor Epée was wearing Lewis's wig (a bit lopsided from being in Jacques saddlebag all this time).

"There is the king and the prince. Everyone must know you are younger than me." Lewis announced positioning his brother like some sort of living mannequin; head up, shoulders back, hand on hip, one foot slightly in front of the other like a Greek statue.

"Younger by two minutes, no more." Emris added from where he lazed. His cape spread over a pile of leaves made a fabulous cushion, toasty in the still warm sun.

Lewis frowned, "Not two minutes…the nobles, especially uncle Gaston, will either see him as a threat and try to poison him, or think to use him to replace me. Two years would be safer…that would make him born in…Bah…I've always hated lessons."

"1640." Epée said without thinking…he was good at academics. His jailors had not thought it prudent to teach a royal pawn even to read, but Emris made learning enjoyable and the young prince had blossomed under his tutelage.

"Good," Lewis nodded. "I'm reasonably sure mother spent time at the palace in St. Germain when I was a babe and XIII died there. We can have paperwork made that records you were born there as well. How about September 21? That's near enough that we can still celebrate together." the young king asked.

Philippe nodded in wordless accord and his brother turned his excited attention to Emris, "You _do_ have people that can arrange that sort of thing don't you?"

"Actually, yes, but why?" the Jesuit leader mumbled, wondering just what Philippe had told his brother of the doings at the Abbey.

"I am King. Truth is, what I say, it is. If there are records that agree, who is to say otherwise? Every king needs heir and a spare…Uncle Mazzie has said so often enough. XIII would have known this as well. If Philippe was born sickly, the king would be obligated to keep him out of sight till he was stronger…history never need know otherwise."

The blunt assessment of the situation chilled Emris to the bone but he could not deny the fact.

Lew turned his attention back to Epée. "Everyone in court will refer to the prince as Monsieur; the king's brother, Duke of…how about…Duc d' Anjou. Most of the district is quite pretty and even the ugly bits should provide good revenues with proper stewardship. I just may give you all of Orleans next time Uncle Gaston annoys me." The young king pointed to both areas on the map. "Until you come of age your stipend will have to come through the royal coffers same as mine. I expect you'll have to fight for approval and get to know the superintendent of funds quiet well; he is the one holds the royal purse strings." Louie grimaced; his tutors HAD ensured he learned some things too well.

The audacious plan unfolded from there, Lewis explained to his brother, "Some nobles will want to make you king. A prince must not do anything to encourage them. In public you and I will try to be as different as possible -- the more extreme the better."

Philippe was only half listening, enjoying the novelty of bouncy blond ringlets. "Wigs, powder and such will help with that I'm sure." Epée mumbled idly.

Louis nodded; Mother taught him about such things early, the 'masks of royalty' she called them. Then he asked Philippe, "How are you with girls?"

Epée shrugged and stated almost casually, "I spent most of my life in a cell and the rest in a monastery. I can't say as I've had much experience. Before this week, my opportunities with females were rare. One was a blind oldster who looked after me when I was small…my keeper made me bury her in the garden when she died. Emris's daughter, Kate, was second. She taught me how to play; and for that, I am grateful. Last would be Andie. She is a girl too…isn't she? Three in ten years isn't a very good track record is it." Philippe shrugged.

As much as it hurt Aramis to be reminded of the boy's sorrowful past he was glad Philippe finally had begun to speak about such things. It was a sign the wounds had begun to heal.

"That's all right" Louis shrugged, "I suppose we'll figure that part out when we're older. What matters is we master each other's mannerisms so we can switch places whenever we want…" Louis folded his hands before him…bit his lip and did his best to look waif-ish. "How do I look?" he asked.

"Bend your shoulders more and don't tense your arms, so much." Philippe directed, trying to get brother's short sandy hair to flop in his face. "My hair is a shade or two darker than yours. Suppose we could get a wig as dark and wavy as D'artagnan's? That'll make the difference all the more extreme." Epée chuckled then went on to give his brother the essential tips necessary to portray him properly.

"I know it is useful for rulers to have relatives appear very much opposite in character. Keep your eyes low. I used to get hit for any suggestion of defiance." Philippe recalled, "I know things have changed…and from what you've said I may grow to like being as bold as you. But publicly, The Prince must maintain that beaten expression. I am accustomed to masks. As I see it, some are forced on us others we choose for ourselves. This façade will be less difficult than what I have already overcome. Court will underestimate me; I will certainly be the subject of idle gossip. But I will not accept history linking my name with sedition, never that. It would justify my imprisonment all those years. I will not have THEM win!" Philippe declared with a boldness Emris never imagined the young prince to possess.

"Y-yes Majesty." Lewis mimicked the tremulous voice that shielded his brother so often from jailor's fists. "Of course…Whatever you say." He said slouching meekly then ruined the effect with a very un-Philippe giggle. "This will be the greatest charade ever…Just like Moliere!" the king crowed.

Emris noted the boys were already opposites. But this – game of theirs – seemed good for them…making each more balanced, complete. Philippe became more confident by the hour and Louis less foolhardy. Hopefully when the time came the king (regardless of the head that wore the crown on a given day) would rule well, wisely and for a very long time.

The brothers could guard one another's backs as their own. Mazarin could not attempt to manipulate one without the other suspecting. Philippe in particular had a healthy aversion to being used. He had worn the mask long enough to be able to see through illusion. Mazarin would not find him easily taken in.

"Mother will have to know of course," Lewis admitted. "She's hidden your existence this long she's likely an old hand at these things …Did you know Queen's are no different from barmaids in the dark?"

– Please note: Louis has still never seen a barmaid with the exception of Porthos' new bride Allie. Who, it has been noted gives the best massage this side of…Well the young king never did find out. But it must have been true because many people have remarked that after Porthos was married, he tended to boast less... and smiled much, much more.

o-o-o-o

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Chapter XIV: Loose Ends, wrap things up neatly and set the stage for my next tale…Taken.


	14. Chapter 14: Loose Ends

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Chapter XIV: Loose Ends... wrap things up neatly and set the stage for my next tale…Taken.

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Unto Dumas: Pax, Disney, Hallmark and United Artists too

Give credit where credit is due,

I'd be writing something subtly different…

If not for all of you.

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Chapter XIV: Loose Ends

In January, Queen Anne and her retinue secretly fled Paris for Rueil; it was believed the king went with her. Cardinal Mazarin would join them there, after he arranged for prince de Condé and his troops, freed by the Peace of Westphalia, to blockade the capital.

It galled Mazarin that things had gotten so out of hand. Now, to make a treaty with Spain-- so he could recall the army and besiege Paris-- was more than humiliating…it was maddening in the extreme. The calculating Cardinal had only wanted a small uprising. He needed an excuse to remove a handful of troublemakers and perhaps arouse public sympathy in his favor, while making the king's guard seem inept.

The plan backfired. He lost many loyal supporters, his network of informants was hopelessly fractured and there were a considerable number of people crying for his exile! Still, no one seemed to make the connection that Prince de Condé, who led the royal forces, was the brother of two of the most visible leaders of the fronde -- Armand de Conti and Mme de Longueville.

Even if that link came to light, no one knew all three had connections to the Knights of the Dark Order or could guess Mazarin's role in triggering the unrest. The Cardinal had been very careful. Now, he could only hope the people would settle down before there was too much unnecessary bloodshed. After all, what use was controlling the crown if there were no people left to claim dominion over?

0-0-0-0

The Queen and her attendants took up residence at Rueil in the château once belonging to Cardinal Richelieu. She spent much time in the chapel there. Through the winter months, Anne mourned the situation in Paris and wept for her son… swept beyond her reach in such an unsettled time. She imagined her dear Louis hemmed in by enemies on every side. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, she was spent. Her dear Charles wasn't much better, worn thin and nearly beside himself. He had failed to locate her son as he had promised and return him to Paris. What's more, it had been HIS son who was responsible for spiriting Louis away in the first place.

Anne wandered disconsolately through the terrace, blind to the magnificent frescoes she had so admired in Richelieu's day. Her weary steps brought her unfailingly to the gardens. She had visited them many times over the years. In spring, the carefully manicured lawns always seemed lush and velvety against the dazzling carpet like flowerbeds. She recalled how air seemed heavy with the fragrance of orange blossoms and pomegranate trees. The sound of fountains in the water garden had often filled her heart with joy. The Great cascade was said to be the finest in all of Europe. But it was winter now and the laughing fountains were silent.

The Queen shouldered her way past sleepy winter-gray pines and wondered aimless through the desolate garden. Winter bear branches seemed so much more suitable to her melancholy. She marveled at the ebony arms thrust upward in supplication to the stark grey sky. The Queen was so consumed by her thoughts she nearly missed hearing the hushed whisperer. But the playful breeze snatched the word even as it left the speakers lips and brought it to her ear like breath of spring in her winter world. "Mother?"

Anne stopped in her snowy tracks, pushed the hood of her ermine edged cape away from her ears, and gazed widely about, seeking the source of the sound. "Here." The voice she longed to hear most in the entire world said, and a figure emerged from a nearby grotto. She hastily flung herself into her son's arms.

"Oh my dear boy" she whispered, kissing forehead and cheek in a very un-queenly manner. "You are safe, and back with me at last!" She squeezed him and toyed with his curls careful not to dislodge the wig. Her cheeks were flushed with emotion as much as the persistent chill of winter. "Does Charles know you have returned?" She asked and gently chided, "You realize he was fearfully put out at not having been notified about your plans in advance. He is my champion as well as the head of my guard…and he cares for you. You should not treat him so shabbily. "

"I know mother." The colorfully clad youth said touching her face gently, as if to reassure himself she was real, and no vision conjured by the cold.

"Louie sweet what is wrong?" She asked wondering at the tears that shown brightly in her son's eyes.

"I'm Louie, Mamma." a second voice said, "That is Philippe." The new figure garbed in dark greens and grays emerged from the grotto. His wig was dark and wavy tied in a queue with a velvet ribbon but the voice and eyes were indeed very like those of her son.

"Philippe!" Anne gasped and nearly fainted. Both boys moved quickly to gently help her to a wooden bench, both nearby and free of snow. "How!" she whispered breathlessly.

"It was time we knew… wasn't it?" Lewis (the real one) asked. "Eleven years we have been alone together…and I never guessed what was missing." The young king bit his lip and wondered how she was going to take his next revelation. "Philippe is a prince of the blood… as royal as I am. Isn't it time His exile is over."

'As royal as I am?' The Queen mother mused silently the dubious tone in her son's voice as he said the words opened old fears. "You are king… you were named the heir…Your sire was king…"

"A king among Gascon's?" Louis added, eyes shining playfully. "There is no one here you need not dent it.

"Oh, do not say such things, even in jest. I fear so for you… for you both." She said enclosing her sons in the circle of her arms.

"He doesn't know." Epée nodded to his royal brother. "You see, I said she never told anyone, not even the elder D'artagnan."

"De' Batz suspects… he must." Lew frowned, "He's been around my whole life; why else would he be so devoted?"

"Because he still loves her." Philippe smiled, excited by the romance of the situation, and Anne blushed.

The word 'Love' had never been whispered between herself and the stalwart captain. Leo had known within days of their indiscretion. The D'artagnan was too honorable to run or hide from his mistakes. Had his king asked, Charles would have willingly surrendered his life for that single night. But Louis XIII had not asked it and nothing more was said of the matter. Only on his deathbed had the Leo admitted to Anne that he drugged the wine she and D'artagnan shared that night. He saw it as the only way to get a royal heir. After the twins had been conceived, the king grew increasingly jealous first sending his musketeers from court and later abandoning Philippe... Things got progressively worse after that. Leo suspected Richelieu's death and his own wasting illness were punishment for his sin. The king begged Anne's forgiveness before he died and she granted it willingly… but never shared these things with Charles.

For his part, Captain D'artagnan never again betrayed his king's trust. Even after Leo's death, he kept his relationship with the queen chaste out of honor of the great king's memory. But the love remained-- scratch the surface and it would pour forth like gold…like diamonds. God, how she treasured that man, and his sons… she embraced Louis and Philippe again, tears running freely down her cheeks.

"Mother, we've got a plan we need your help for." Epée began gazing longingly into her eyes.

You see," Louis explained excitedly. "All this time I've been pulled in half and only now am I whole… two souls… one king. It will be best for us…and for France if we have our cake and eat it too. As a prince, it is no weakness to be fond of play, of eating, dancing and dress; all those little indiscretions they tell me are totally inappropriate in a monarch. Yet, I can still don the crown to act in my strengths in areas of political debates and foreign affairs, not to mention host world-class garden parties and masquerades." Louis explained.

Epée took up where his brother left off, "As a prince I will he humble and unassuming; as a king I will be solemn, amiable and kind…I love to ride and shoot and fence and have an affinity for the royal pursuits my brother finds so dreary. Unlike Lew, I have an ear for music and enjoy lessons. Yet I am weak in dealing with people; and do not deny that is the arena where Louis shines. Prince or king I am good at strategy and can be warlike if the need arises."

"The thing is, Uncle Mazzie must not know… no one must know that we're twins." Lew began and outlined the plan whereby he and Philippe could switch places freely without having anyone suspect. "Firstly, We'll need privacy. My nosy body-servants need to be assigned to other duties, and you'll have to speak to the guard about giving us a bit more space."

"But who will serve you?" Anne asked wide-eyed. "You are king after all."

"I will," Philippe said, executing a regal bow to his brother. The boy cleared his throat, and placed his hand on his chest. In his most officious tone he announced, "As the person of the king is near divine and sacrosanct none but a royal prince would be fit to serve him."

"Even with such menial tasks as handing us our royal dressing gown at night or our shirt in the morning." Louis's voice took on a haughty tone also and he was sure to make use of the royal 'we' but his eyes gleamed playfully.

"Philippe, you mustn't become be your brother's scapegrace! You can not know what such a subservient roll will do to your reputation and name; history will call you weak and ineffective. Why would you let yourself become the kings pawn?" Anne cried understanding what this could do to one so much a stranger to his brother's world.

"Our plan does work both ways, Louie will serve ME on days when I wear the crown. I don't much care how history paints me…Louie XIII was considered a weak king, I sure he doesn't care a bit what scholars say now that he's gone. France is strong and that is what really matters." Philippe smiled.

Louis cut in "Please mother our plan really is best…right now I'm mostly a figure head but you have taught me what I will be expected to do as king. Epée and I together will make a far better king then ether of us could be alone. All we need is to be free to discuss in private the affairs of the day and consult with one another. If we begin now when little is expected of us later when the pressure gets too great none will suspect when we switch places."

"Lew and I have spoken about this many times over the past months." Epée continued, "I have lived in obscurity but am no stranger to deception. I crave the spotlight…and I fear it. I want to be great… to make this kingdom the greatest it has ever been. But like moth to flame, I will burn up if there were no way escape from responsibility. In truth, I don't mind if people underestimate me… if Prince Philippe is believed a bit peculiar everyone will know I have no ambition for the crown. That way Lew or I can use that guise to safely distance ourselves from court. I don't even mind if people say 'the king's brother is a fool'…But I'll not have them think I am a traitor… ever." The prince admitted vehemently.

"You will help us…won't you mother?" Louis asked Philippe pleaded with his with his eyes and her heart melted. "Together we are complete," both boys declared in one voice.

She had often suspected her son was more intelligent than he pretended to be. His decisiveness and unexpected maturity frightened her at times. But right now, she was just glad to have them safe beside her at long last. "My boys," she sniffed tearing-up, "My fine, sweet, cunning boys; how can I refuse you?"

The young royals hugged her furiously. This was a day Anne never dreamed possible, the day her family was whole once more…All that was required was a few difficult words, and then she would be free to share her joy with Charles as well. But that would have to wait for another day.

…

A monumental 'thank you' to JeanTre my faithful beta  
Who contributed tirelessly to my effort  
and didn't even try to desert given the chance.  
I appreciate all you have done!

-----  
Keep an eye out for 'TAKEN'  
in which Ramon is abducted by the Dark Order  
and Siroc is forced to face his painful past.


End file.
